A  LOST  LEADER 

• 

E .  PHILLIPS  OPPENHEIM 


"'I  AM  VERY  GLAD  TO  KNOW  YOU.    MRS.   MANNER  ING  '  "          Frontispiece 

{See  Paze  198 


A  Lost  Leader 


By 

E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 

Author  of  "A  Maker  of  History,"   "Mysterious  Mr.  Sabin, 
"The  Master  Mummer."    "Anna  the  Adventuress," 

Etc. 


Illustrated  by  Fred  Pegram 


Boston 

Little,  Brown  &  Company 
1907 


Copyright,  1906, 
BT  LITTLE,  BROWN  &  COMPANY. 


All  rjgfc*  rttervtd 


Published  August,  1907 


PRESSWORK  BY 

ALFRED  MUDOE  &  SON,  INC.,  PRINTERS, 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.S.A. 


Stack 
Annex 


PR 

5115 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I    RECONSTRUCTION 1 

II  THE  WOMAN  WITH  AN  ALIAS       .         .         .11 

III  WANTED — A  POLITICIAN    ....  22 

IV  THE  DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION          .         .  30 
V  THE  HESITATION  OF  MR.  MANNERING           .  41 

VI  SACRIFICE         ......  49 

VII  THE  DUCHESS'S ''AT  HOME"      ...  54 

VIII  THE  MANNERING  MYSTERY          ...  60 

IX  THE  PUMPING  OF  MRS.  PHILLIMORE.    .         .  68 

X  THE  MAN  WITH  A  MOTIVE           ...  77 

XI  MANNERING'S  ALTERNATIVE        ...  84 

BOOK  II 

I  BORROWDEAN  MAKES  A  BARGAIN             .             .  92 

II  ."CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"    ....  103 

III  ONE  OF  THE  "SUFFERERS"          .         .         .  Ill 

IV  DEBTS  OF  HONOUR    .....  120 
V  LOVE  versus  POLITICS         .          .          .          .130 

VI  THE  CONSCIENCE  OF  A  STATESMAN       .         .  137 

VII  A  BLOW  FOR  BORROWDEAN         .         .         .  144 

VIII  A  PAGE  FROM  THE  PAST  152 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX    THE  FALTERING  OF  MANNERING          .         .159 

X    THE  END  OF  A  DREAM       ....  165 

XI    BORROWDEAN  SHOWS  HIS  "  HAND  "      .         .  171 

XII    Sm  LESLIE  BORROWDEAN  INCURS  A  HEAVY 

DEBT 178 

XIII    THE  WOMAN  AND — THE  OTHER  WOMAN       .  186 

BOOK  III 

I    MATRIMONY  AND  AN  AWKWARD  MEETING     .  195 

II    THE  SNUB  FOR  BORROWDEAN      .         .         .  202 

III  CLOUDS — AND  A  CALL  TO  ARMS  .         .         .  210 

IV  DISASTER 216 

V    THE  JOURNALIST  INTERVENES     .          .         .  223 

VI     TREACHERY  AND  A  TELEGRAM     .         .         .  230 

VII    MR.  MANNERING,  M.P 238 

VIII     PLAYING  THE  GAME  .....  246 

IX    THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A  KEY    ....  254 

X    BLANCHE  FINDS  A  WAY  OUT       .         .         .  261 

BOOK  IV 

I    THE  PERSISTENCY  OF  BORROWDEAN    .         .  268 

II     HESTER  THINKS  IT  "A  GREAT  PITY"  .         .  274 

III  SUMMONED  TO  WINDSOR     ....  281 

IV  CHECKMATE  TO  BORROWDEAN     .         ,         .  287 
V    A  BRAZEN  PROCEEDING  293 


"  '  I   AM   VERY  GLAD  TO  KNOW  YOU,   MRS.   MANNERING,'  " 

Frontispiece 
PAGE 

"  '  I  MUST  HAVE  A  FEW  WORDS  WITH  YOU  BEFORE  I  GO 

BACK,'  HE  SAID,  NONCHALANTLY"  ...  15 
"  SHE  LEANED  OVER  HIM,  ONE  HAND  ON  THE  BACK  OF 

HIS  CHAIR"    ......    49 

"  SIR  LESLIE  NEVER  QUITE  FORGOT  HER  GESTURE  AS 

SHE  MOTIONED  HIM  TOWARDS  THE  DOOR  "  .  .  76 

"  SHE  WAS  THE  ONLY  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN  WHO  SAT 

ALONE  AND  COMPANIONLESS  "  .  .  .  135 

"  '  YOU  WILL  FIND  YOURSELF  REPAID  FOR  THIS,  SlR 

LESLIE,'  SHE  MURMURED  "  .  .  .  .  185 

"MANNERING  ROSE  TO  PLAY  HIS  SHOT"  .  .  .  253 

"  SHE  WAS  ALREADY  ON  HER  WAY  UP  THE  GREY  STONE 

STEPS"     .  .  .        260 


A  LOST  LEADER 


BOOK  I 

CHAPTER  I 

RECONSTRUCTION 

THE  two  men  stood  upon  the  top  of  a  bank 
bordering  the  rough  road  which  led  to  the  sea. 
They  were  listening  to  the  lark,  which  had  risen  flut- 
tering from  their  feet  a  moment  or  so  ago,  and  was 
circling  now  above  their  heads.  Mannering,  with  a 
quiet  smile,  pointed  upwards. 

"There,  my  friend!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  can  listen 
now  to  arguments  more  eloquent  than  any  which  I 
could  ever  frame.  That  little  creature  is  singing  the 
true,  uncorrupted  song  of  life.  He  shags  of  the  sun- 
shine, the  buoyant  air;  the  pure  and  simple  joy  of 
existence  is  beating  in  his  little  heart.  The  things 
which  lie  behind  the  hills  will  never  sadden  him.  His 
kingdom  is  here,  and  he  is  content." 

Borrowdean's  smile  was  a  little  cynical.  He  was 
essentially  of  that  order  of  men  who  are  dwellers  in 
cities,  and  even  the  sting  of  the  salt  breeze  blowing 
across  the  marshes  —  marshes  riven  everywhere  with 
long  arms  of  the  sea — could  bring  no  colour  to  his  pale 
cheeks. 

"Your  little  bird — a  lark,  I  think  you  called  it,"  he 
remarked,  "may  be  a  very  eloquent  prophet  for  the 


2  A  LOST  LEADER 

whole  kingdom  of  his  species,  but  the  song  of  life  for  a 
bird  and  that  for  a  man  are  surely  different  things!" 

"Not  so  very  different  after  all,"  Mannering  answered, 
still  watching  the  bird.  "The  longer  one  lives,  the 
more  clearly  one  recognizes  the  absolute  universality 
of  life." 

Borrowdean  shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  a  little  ges- 
ture of  impatience.  He  had  left  London  at  a  moment 
when  he  could  ill  be  spared,  and  had  not  travelled  to 
this  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  kingdom  to  exchange 
purposeless  platitudes  with  a  man  whose  present  at- 
titude towards  life  at  any  rate  he  heartily  despised. 
He  seated  himself  upon  a  half-broken  rail,  and  lit  a 
cigarette. 

"Mannering,"  he  said,  "I  did  not  come  here  to 
simper  cheap  philosophies  with  you  like  a  couple  of 
schoolgirls.  I  have  a  real  live  errand.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you  of  great  things." 

Mannering  moved  a  little  uneasily.  He  had  a  very 
shrewd  idea  as  to  the  nature  of  that  errand. 

"Of  great  things,"  he  repeated  slowly.  "Are  you  in 
earnest,  Borrowdean?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because,"  Mannering  continued,  "I  have  left  the 
world  of  great  things,  as  you  and  I  used  to  regard  them, 
very  far  behind.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  here,  of  course, 
but  I  cannot  think  of  any  serious  subject  which  it 
ivould  be  useful  or  profitable  for  us  to  discuss.  You 
understand  me,  Borrowdean,  I  am  sure!" 

Borrowdean  closely  eyed  this  man  who  once  had 
been  his  friend. 

"The  old  sore  still  rankles,  then,  Mannering/'  he  said. 
"Has  time  done  nothing  to  heal  it?" 


RECONSTRUCTION  3 

Mannering  laughed  easily. 

"How  can  you  think  me  such  a  child?"  he  exclaimed. 
"If  Rochester  himself  were  to  come  to  see  me  he  would 
be  as  welcome  as  you  are.  In  fact,"  he  continued, 
more  seriously,  "if  you  could  only  realize,  my  friend, 
how  peaceful  and  happy  life  here  may  be,  amongst  the 
quiet  places,  you  would  believe  me  at  once  when  I 
assure  you  that  I  can  feel  nothing  but  gratitude  towards 
those  people  and  those  circumstances  which  impelled 
me  to  seek  it." 

"What  should  you  think,  then,"  Borrowdean  asked, 
watching  his  friend  through  half -closed  eyes,  "of  those 
who  sought  to  drag  you  from  it?" 

Mannering's  laugh  was  as  free  and  natural  as  the 
wind  itself.  He  had  bared  his  head,  and  had  turned 
directly  seawards. 

"Hatred,  my  dear  Borrowdean,"  he  declared,  "if  I 
thought  that  they  had  a  single  chance  of  success.  As 
it  is — indifference." 

Borrowdean's  eyebrows  were  raised.  He  held  his 
cigarette  between  his  fingers,  and  looked  at  it  for 
several  moments. 

"Yet  I  am  here,"  he  said  slowly,  "for  no  other 
purpose." 

Mannering  turned  and  faced  his  friend. 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it,"  he 
declared.  "I  know  the  sort  of  man  you  are,  Borrow- 
dean, and  I  know  very  well  that  if  you  have  come 
down  here  with  something  to  say  to  me  you  will  say 
it.  Therefore  go  on.  Let  us  have  it  over." 

Borrowdean  stood  up.  His  tone  acquired  a  new 
earnestness:  He  became  at  once  more  of  a  man.  The 
cynical  curve  of  his  lips  had  vanished. 


4  A  LOST  LEADER 

"We  are  on  the  eve  of  great  opportunities,  Manner- 
ing,"  he  said.  "Six  months  ago  the  result  of  the  next 
General  Election  seemed  assured.  We  appeared  to  be 
as  far  off  any  chance  of  office  as  a  political  party  could 
be.  To-day  the  whole  thing  is  changed.  We  are  on 
the  eve  of  a  general  reconstruction.  It  is  our  one  great 
chance  of  this  generation.  I  come  to  you  as  a  patriot. 
Rochester  asks  you  to  forget." 

Mannering  held  up  his  hand. 

"Stop  one  moment,  Borrowdean,"  he  said.  "I 
want  you  to  understand  this  once  and  for  all.  I  have 
no  grievance  against  Rochester.  The  old  wound,  if 
it  ever  amounted  to  that,  is  healed.  If  Rochester 
were  here  at  this  moment  I  would  take  his  hand 
cheerfully.  But— 

"Ah!  There  is  a  but,  then,"  Borrowdean  inter- 
rupted. 

"There  is  a  but,"  Mannering  assented.  "You  may 
find  it  hard  to  understand,  but  here  is  the  truth.  I 
have  lost  all  taste  for  public  life.  The  whole  thing  is 
rotten,  Borrowdean,  rotten  from  beginning  to  end.  I 
have  had  enough  of  it  to  last  me  ail  my  days.  Party 
policy  must  come  before  principle.  A  man's  individ- 
uality, his  whole  character,  is  assailed  and  suborned 
on  every  side.  There  is  but  one  life,  one  measure  of 
days,  that  you  or  I  know  anything  of.  It  doesn't 
last  very  long.  The  months  and  years  have  a  knack 
of  slipping  away  emptily  enough  unless  we  are  al- 
ways standing  to  attention.  Therefore  I  think  that 
it  becomes  our  duty  to  consider  very  carefully,  al- 
most religiously,  how  best  to  use  them.  Come  here 
for  a  moment,  Borrowdean.  I  want  to  show  you 
something." 


RECONSTRUCTION  5 

The  two  men  stood  side  by  side  upon  the  grassy  bank, 
Mannering  broad-shouldered  and  vigorous,  his  clean, 
hard-cut  features  tanned  with  wind  and  sun,  his  eyes 
bright  and  vigorous  with  health;  Leslie  Borrowdean, 
once  his  greatest  friend,  a  man  of  almost  similar  phys- 
ique, but  with  the  bent  frame  and  listless  pallor  of 
a  dweller  in  the  crowded  places  of  Me.  Without 
enthusiasm  his  tired  eyes  followed  the  sweep  of 
Mannering's  arm. 

"You  see  those  yellow  sandhills  beyond  the  marshes 
there?  Behind  them  is  the  sea.  Do  you  catch  that 
breath  of  wind?  Take  off  your  hat,  man,  and  get  it 
into  your  lungs.  It  comes  from  the  North  Sea,  salt 
and  fresh  and  sweet.  I  think  that  it  is  the  purest  thing 
on  earth.  You  can  walk  here  for  miles  and  miles  in 
the  open,  and  the  wind  is  like  God's  own  music.  Bor- 
rowdean, I  am  going  to  say  things  to  you  which  one 
says  but  once  or  twice  in  his  life.  I  came  to  this  country 
a  soured  man,  cynical,  a  pessimist,  a  materialist  by 
training  and  environment.  To-day  I  speak  of  a  God 
with  bowed  head,  for  I  believe  that  somewhere  behind 
all  these  beautiful  things  their  prototype  must  exist. 
Don't  think  I've  turned  ranter.  I've  never  spoken  like 
this  to  any  one  else  before,  and  I  don't  suppose  I  ever 
shall  again.  Here  is  Nature,  man,  the  greatest  force  on 
earth,  the  mother,  the  mistress,  beneficent,  wonderful! 
You  are  a  creature  of  cities.  Stay  with  me  here  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  the  joy  of  all  these  things  will  steal 
into  your  blood.  You,  too,  will  know  what  peace  is." 

Borrowdean,  as  though  unconsciously,  straightened 
himself.  If  no  colour  came  to  his  cheeks,  the  light  of 
battle  was  at  least  in  his  eyes.  This  man  was  speak- 
ing heresies.  The  words  sprang  to  his  lips. 


6  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Peace I"  he  exclaimed,  scornfully.  "Peace  is  for 
the  dead.  The  last  reward  perhaps  of  a  breaking 
heart.  The  life  effective,  militant,  is  the  only  possible 
existence  for  men.  Pull  yourself  together,  Mannering, 
for  Heaven's  sake.  Yours  is  the  faineant  spirit  of  the 
decadent,  masquerading  in  the  garb  of  a  sham  primi- 
tivism.  Were  you  born  into  the  world,  do  you  think, 
to  loiter  through  We  an  idle  worshipper  at  the  altar 
of  beauty?  Who  are  you  to  dare  to  skulk  in  the  quiet 
places,  whilst  the  battle  of  life  is  fought  by  others?" 

Another  lark  had  risen  almost  from  their  feet,  and, 
circling  its  way  upwards,  was  breaking  into  song.  And 
below,  the  full  spring  tide  was  filling  the  pools  and 
creeks  with  the  softly  flowing,  glimmering  sea-water. 
The  fishing  boats,  high  and  dry  an  hour  ago,  were 
passing  now  seaward  along  the  silvery  way.  All  these 
things  Mannering  was  watching  with  rapt  eyes,  even 
whilst  he  listened  to  his  companion. 

"Dear  friend,"  he  said,  "the  world  can  get  on  very 
well  without  me,  and  I  have  no  need  of  the  world. 
The  battle  that  you  speak  of — well,  I  have  been  in  the 
fray,  as  you  know.  The  memory  of  it  is  still  a  night- 
mare to  me." 

Borrowdean  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  who 
sought  to  put  a  restraint  upon  his  words.  He  was 
silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  he  spoke  very  deliberately. 

"Mannering,"  he  said,  "do  not  think  me  wholly 
unsympathetic.  There  is  a  side  of  me  which  sym- 
pathises deeply  with  every  word  which  you  have  said. 
And  there  is  another  which  forces  me  to  remind  you 
again  and  again,  that  we  men  were  never  bora  to  linger 
in  the  lotos  lands  of  the  world.  You  do  not  stand  for 
yourself  alone.  You  exist  as  a  unit  of  humanity. 


RECONSTRUCTION  7 

Think  of  your  responsibilities.  You  have  found  for 
yourself  a  beautiful  corner  of  the  world.  That  is  all 
very  well  for  you,  but  how  about  the  rest?  How 
about  the  millions  who  are  chained  to  the  cities  that 
they  may  earn  their  living  pittance,  whose  wives  and 
children  fill  the  churchyards,  the  echoes  of  whose 
weary,  never-ceasing  cry  must  reach  you  even  here? 
They  are  the  people,  the  sufferers,  fellow-links  with 
you  in  the  chain  of  humanity.  You  may  stand  aloof 
as  you  will,  but  you  can  never  cut  yourself  wholly 
away  from  the  great  family  of  your  fellows.  You 
may  hide  from  your  responsibilities,  but  the  burden 
of  them  will  lie  heavy  upon  your  conscience,  the  poison 
will  penetrate  sometimes  into  your  most  jealously 
guarded  paradise.  We  are  of  the  people's  party,  you 
and  I,  Mannering,  and  I  tell  you  that  the  tocsin  has 
sounded.  We  need  you!" 

A  shadow  had  fallen  upon  Mannering's  face.  Bor- 
rowdean  was  in  earnest,  and  his  appeal  was  scarcely 
one  to  be  treated  lightly.  Nevertheless,  Mannering 
showed  no  sign  of  faltering,  though  his  tone  was  cer- 
tainly graver. 

"Leslie,"  he  said,  "you  speak  like  a  prophet,  but 
believe  me,  my  mind  is  made  up.  I  have  taken  root 
here.  Such  work  as  I  can  do  from  my  study  is,  as  it 
always  has  been,  at  your  service.  But  I  myself  have 
finished  with  actual  political  life.  Don't  press  me  too 
hard.  I  must  seem  churlish  and  ungrateful,  but  if  I 
listened  to  you  for  hours  the  result  would  be  the 
same.  I  have  finished  with  actual  political  life." 

Borrowdean   shrugged   his   shoulders    despairingly. 
Such  a  man  was  hard  to  deal  with. 

" Mannering,"   he  protested,   "you  must  not,  you 


8  A  LOST  LEADER 

really  must  not,  send  me  away  like  this.  You  speak 
of  your  written  work.  Don't  think  that  I  underesti- 
mate it  because  I  have  not  alluded  to  it  before.  I 
myself  honestly  believe  that  it  was  those  wonderful 
articles  of  yours  in  the  Nineteenth  Century  which 
brought  back  to  a  reasonable  frame  of  mind  thousands 
who  were  half  led  away  by  the  glamour  of  this  new 
campaign.  You  kindled  the  torch,  my  friend,  and  you 
must  bear  it  to  victory.  You  bring  me  to  my  last 
resource.  If  you  will  not  serve  under  Rochester,  come 
back — and  Rochester  will  serve  under  you  when  the 
time  comes." 

Mannering  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  wish  I  could  convince  you,"  he  said,  "once  and 
for  all,  that  my  refusal  springs  from  no  such  reasons 
as  you  seem  to  imagine.  I  would  sooner  sit  here,  with 
a  volume  of  Pater  or  Meredith,  and  this  west  wind 
blowing  hi  my  face,  than  I  would  hear  myself  acclaimed 
Prime  Minister  of  England.  Let  us  abandon  this 
discussion  once  and  for  all,  Borrowdean.  We  have 
arrived  at  a  cul-de-sac,  and  I  have  spoken  my  last 
word." 

Borrowdean  threw  his  half-finished  cigarette  into 
the  ever-widening  creek  below.  It  was  characteristic 
of  the  man  that  his  face  showed  no  sign  of  disappoint- 
ment. Only  for  several  moments  he  kept  silence. 

"Come,"  Mannering  said  at  last.  "Let  us  make 
our  way  back  to  the  house.  If  you  are  resolved  to 
get  back  to  town  to-night,  we  ought  to  be  thinking 
about  luncheon." 

"Thank  you,"  Borrowdean  said.     "I  must  return." 

They  started  to  walk  inland,  but  they  had  taken 
only  a  few  steps  when  they  both,  as  though  by  a 


RECONSTRUCTION  9 

common  impulse,  stopped.  An  unfamiliar  sound  had 
broken  in  upon  the  deep  silence  of  this  quiet  land. 
Borrowdean,  who  was  a  few  paces  ahead,  pointed  to 
the  bend  in  the  road  below,  and  turned  towards  his 
companion  with  a  little  gesture  of  cynical  amusement. 

"Behold,"  he  exclaimed,  "the  invasion  of  modernity. 
Even  your  time-forgotten  paradise,  Mannering,  has  its 
civilizations,  then.  What  an  anachronism!" 

With  a  cloud  of  dust  behind,  and  with  the  sun  flash- 
ing upon  its  polished  metal  parts,  a  motor  car  swung 
into  sight,  and  came  rushing  towards  them.  Borrow- 
clean,  always  a  keen  observer  of  trifles,  noticed  the 
change  in  Mannering's  face. 

"It  is  a  neighbour  of  mine,"  he  remarked.  "She  is 
on  her  way  to  the  golf  links." 

"Golf  links!"  Borrowdean  exclaimed. 

Mannering  nodded. 

"Behind  the  sandhills  there,"  he  remarked. 

There  was  a  grinding  of  brakes.  The  car  came  to  a 
standstill  below.  A  woman,  who  sat  alone  in  the  back 
seat,  raised  her  veil  and  looked  upwards. 

"Am  I  late?"  she  asked.  "Clara  has  gone  on — they 
told  me!" 

She  had  addressed  Mannering,  but  her  eyes  seemed 
suddenly  drawn  to  Borrowdean.  As  though  dazzled 
by  the  sun,  she  dropped  her  veil.  Borrowdean  was 
standing  as  though  turned  to  stone,  perfectly  rigid  and 
motionless.  His  face  was  like  a  still,  white  mask. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  Mannering  said,  "but  I  have  had 
a  most  unexpected  visit  from  an  old  friend.  May  I 
introduce  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean — Mrs.  Handsell!" 

The  lady  in  the  car  bent  her  head,  and  Borrowdean 
performed  an  automatic  salute.  Mannering  continued : 


10  A  LOST  LEADER 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  must  throw  myself  upon  your 
mercy!  Sir  Leslie  insists  upon  returning  this  after- 
noon, and  I  am  taking  him  back  for  an  early  luncheon. 
You  will  find  Clara  and  Lindsay  at  the  golf  club.  May 
we  have  our  foursome  to-morrow?" 

"Certainly!  I  will  not  keep  you  for  a  moment.  I 
must  hurry  now,  or  the  tide  will  be  over  the  road." 

She  motioned  the  driver  to  proceed,  but  Borrowdean 
interposed. 

"Mannering,"  he  said,  "I  am  afraid  that  the  poison 
of  your  lotos  land  is  beginning  to  work  already.  May 
I  stay  until  to-morrow  and  walk  round  with  you 
whilst  you  play  your  foursome?  I  should  enjoy  it 
immensely." 

Mannering  looked  at  his  friend  for  a  moment  in 
amazement.  Then  he  laughed  heartily. 

"  By  all  means ! "  he  answered.  "  Our  foursome  stands, 
then,  Mrs.  Handsell.  This  way,  Borrowdean!" 

The  two  men  turned  once  more  seaward,  walking  in 
single  file  along  the  top  of  the  grassy  bank.  The 
woman  in  the  car  inclined  her  head,  and  motioned 
the  driver  to  proceed. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   WOMAN   WITH   AN  ALIAS 

BORROWDEAN  seemed  after  all  to  take  but  little 
interest  in  the  game.  He  walked  generally,  some 
distance  away  from  the  players,  on  the  top  of  the 
low  bank  of  sandhills  which  fringed  the  sea.  He 
was  one  of  those  men  whom  solitude  never  wearies, 
a  weaver  of  carefully  thought-out  schemes,  no  single 
detail  of  which  was  ever  left  to  chance  or  impulse. 
Such  moments  as  these  were  valuable  to  him.  He 
bared  his  head  to  the  breeze,  stopped  to  listen  to  the 
larks,  watched  the  sea-gulls  float  low  over  the  lapping 
waters,  without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  any 
one  of  them.  The  instinctive  cunning  which  never 
deserted  him  led  him  without  any  conscious  effort  to 
assume  a  pleasure  in  these  things  which,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  he  found  entirely  meaningless.  It  led  him,  too, 
to  choose  a  retired  spot  for  those  periods  of  intensely 
close  observation  to  which  he  every  now  and  then 
subjected  his  host  and  the  woman  who  was  now  his 
partner  in  the  game.  What  he  saw  entirely  satisfied 
him.  Yet  the  way  was  scarcely  clear. 

They  caught  him  up  near  one  of  the  greens,  and  he 
stood  with  his  hands  behind  him,  and  his  eyeglass 
securely  fixed,  gravely  watching  them  approach  and 
put  for  the  hole.  To  him  the  whole  performance 
seemed  absolutely  idiotic,  but  he  showed  no  sign  of 
anything  save  a  mild  and  genial  interest.  Clara, 


12  A  LOST  LEADER 

Mannering's  niece,  who  was  immensely  impressed  with 
him,  lingered  behind. 

"Don't  you  really  care  for  any  games  at  all,  Sir 
Leslie?"  she  asked. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  know  that  you  think  me  a  barbarian,"  he  re- 
marked, smiling. 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  declared,  "that  is  probably 
what  you  think  us.  I  suppose  they  are  really  a  waste 
of  time  when  one  has  other  things  to  do!  Only  down 
here,  you  see,  there  is  nothing  else  to  do." 

He  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  He  had  never  yet 
in  his  life  spoken  half  a  dozen  words  with  man,  woman 
or  child  without  wondering  whether  they  might  not 
somehow  or  other  contribute  towards  his  scheme  of 
life.  Clara  Mannering  was  pretty,  and  no  doubt  fool- 
ish. She  lived  alone  with  her  uncle,  and  possibly  had 
some  influence  over  him.  It  was  certainly  worth  while. 

"I  do  not  know  you  nearly  well  enough,  Miss  Man- 
nering," he  said,  smiling,  "to  tell  you  what  I  really 
think.  But  I  can  assure  you  that  you  don't  seem  a 
barbarian  to  me  at  all." 

She  was  suddenly  grave.  It  was  her  turn  to  play 
a  stroke.  She  examined  the  ball,  carefully  selected  a 
club  from  her  bag,  and  with  a  long,  easy  swing  sent 
it  flying  towards  the  hole. 

"Wonderful!"  he  murmured. 

She  looked  up  at  him  and  laughed. 

"Tell  me  what  you  are  thinking,"  she  insisted. 

"That  if  I  played  golf,"  he  answered,  "I  should  like 
to  be  able  to  play  like  that." 

"But  you  must  have  played  games  sometimes,"  she 
insisted.  • 


THE  WOMAN  WITH  AN  ALIAS  13 

"When  I  was  at  Eton "  he  murmured. 

Mannering  looked  back,  smiling. 

"He  was  in  the  Eton  Eleven,  Clara,  and  stroked 
his  boat  at  college.  Don't  you  believe  all  he  tells 
you." 

"  I  shall  not  believe  another  word,"  she  declared. 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  it,"  he  protested,  "or  I  must 
remain  dumb." 

"You  want  to  go  off  and  tramp  along  the  ridges  by 
yourself,"  she  declared.  "Confess!" 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  answered,  "I  should  like  to 
carry  that  bag  for  you  and  hand  out  the — er — imple- 
ments." 

She  unslung  it  at  once  from  her  shoulder. 

"You  have  rushed  upon  your  fate,"  she  said.  "Now 
let  me  fasten  it  for  you." 

"Is  there  any  remuneration?"  he  inquired,  anxiously. 

"You  mercenary  person!  Stand  still  now,  I  am  going 
to  play.  Well,  what  do  you  expect?" 

"I  am  not  acquainted  with  the  usual  charges,"  he 
answered,  "but  to  judge  from  the  weight  of  the 
clubs " 

"Give  me  them  back,  then,"  she  cried. 

"Nothing,"  he  declared,  firmly,  "would  induce  me 
to  relinquish  them.  I  will  leave  the  matter  of  re- 
muneration entirely  in  your  hands.  I  am  convinced 
that  you  have  a  generous  disposition." 

"The  usual  charge,"  she  remarked,  "is  tenpence, 
and  twopence  for  lunch." 

"I  will  take  it  hi  kind!"  he  said. 

She  laughed  gaily. 

"Give  me  a  mashie,  please." 

He  peered  into  the  bag. 


14  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Which  of  these  clubs  now,"  he  asked,  "rejoices  in 
that  weird  name?" 

She  helped  herself,  and  played  her  shot. 

"I  couldn't  think,"  she  said,  firmly,  "of  paying 
the  full  price  to  a  caddie  who  doesn't  know  what  a 
mashie  is." 

"I  will  be  thankful,"  he  murmured,  "for  whatever 
you  may  give  me — even  if  it  should  be  that  carna- 
tion you  are  wearing." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"It  is  worth  more  than  tenpence,"  she  said. 

"Perhaps  by  extra  diligence,"  he  suggested,  "I 
might  deserve  a  little  extra.  By  the  bye,  why  does 
your  partner,  Mr.  Lindsay,  isn't  it,  walk  by  himself 
all  the  tune?" 

"He  probably  thinks,"  she  answered,  demurely, 
"that  I  am  too  familiar  with  my  caddie." 

"You  will  understand,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "that  if 
my  behaviour  is  not  strictly  correct  it  is  entirely  owing 
to  ignorance.  I  have  no  idea  as  to  the  exact  position 
a  caddie  should  take  up." 

"What  a  pity  you  are  going  away  so  soon,"  she  said. 
"I  might  have  given  you  lessons." 

"Don't  tempt  me,"  he  begged.  "I  can  assure  you 
that  without  me  the  constitution  of  this  country  would 
collapse  within  a  week." 

She  looked  at  him — properly  awed. 

"What  a  wonderful  person  you  are!" 

"I  am  glad,"  he  said,  meekly,  "that  you  are  begin- 
ning to  appreciate  me." 

"As  a  caddie,"  she  remarked,  "you  are  not,  I  must 
confess,  wholly  perfect.  For  instance,  your  attention 
should  be  entirely  devoted  to  the  person  whose  clubs 


''I    MUST    HAVE   A   FEW  WORDS  "WITH    YOU   BEFORE   I   GO   BACK,' 
HK   SAID    NONCHALANTLY    " 

\_Pase  15 


THE  WOMAN   WITH  AN  ALIAS  15 

you  are  carrying,  instead  of  which  you  talk  to  me  and 
watch  Mrs.  Handsell." 

He  was  almost  taken  aback.  For  a  pretty  girl  she 
was  really  not  so  much  of  a  fool  as  he  had  thought 
her. 

"I  deny  it  in  toto!"  he  declared. 

"Ah,  but  I  know  you,"  she  answered.  "You  are  a 
politician,  and  you  would  deny  anything.  Don't  you 
think  her  very  handsome?" 

Borrowdean  gravely  considered  the  matter,  which 
was  in  itself  a  somewhat  humorous  thing.  Slim  and 
erect,  with  a  long,  graceful  neck,  and  a  carriage  of  the 
head  which  somehow  suggested  the  environment  of 
a  court,  Mrs.  Handsell  was  distinctly,  even  from  a 
distance,  a  pleasant  person  to  look  upon.  He  nodded 
approvingly. 

"Yes,  she  is  good-looking,"  he  admitted.  "Is  she 
a  neighbour  of  yours?" 

"She  has  taken  a  house  within  a  hundred  yards  of 
ours,"  Clara  Mannering  answered.  "We  all  think  that 
she  is  delightful." 

"Is  she  a  widow?"  Borrowdean  asked. 

"I  imagine  so,"  she  answered.  "I  have  never  heard 
her  speak  of  her  husband.  She  has  beautiful  dresses 
and  things.  I  should  think  she  must  be  very  rich. 
Stand  quite  still,  please.  I  must  take  great  pains  over 
this  stroke." 

A  wild  shot  from  Clara's  partner  a  few  minutes  later 
resulted  in  a  scattering  of  the  little  party,  searching 
for  the  ball.  For  the  first  time  Borrowdean  found 
himself  near  Mrs.  Handsell. 

"I  must  have  a  few  words  with  you  before  I  go 
back,"  he  said,  nonchalantly. 


16  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Say  that  you  would  like  to  try  my  motor  car,"  she 
answered.  "What  do  you  want  here?" 

"I  came  to  see  Mannering." 

"Poor  Mannering!" 

"It  would  be,"  he  remarked,  smoothly,  "a  mistake 
to  quarrel." 

They  separated,  and  immediately  afterwards  the  ball 
was  found.  A  little  later  on  the  round  was  finished. 
Clara  attributed  her  success  to  the  excellence  of  her 
caddie.  Mrs.  Handsell  deplored  a  headache,  which  had 
put  her  off  her  putting.  Lindsay,  who  was  in  a  bad 
temper,  declined  an  invitation  to  lunch,  and  rode  off 
on  his  bicycle.  The  rest  of  the  little  party  gathered 
round  the  motor  car,  and  Borrowdean  asked  prepos- 
terous questions  about  the  gears  and  the  speeds. 

"If  you  are  really  interested."  Mrs.  Handsell  said, 
languidly,  "I  will  take  you  home.  I  have  only  room 
for  one,  unfortunately,  with  all  these  clubs  and  things." 

"I  should  be  delighted,"  Borrowdean  answered,  "but 
perhaps  Miss  Mannering " 

"Clara  will  look  after  me,"  Mannering  interrupted, 
smiling.  "Try  to  make  an  enthusiast  of  him,  Mrs. 
Handsell.  He  needs  a  hobby  badly." 

They  started  off.  She  leaned  back  in  her  seat  and 
pulled  her  veil  down. 

"Do  not  talk  to  me  here,"  she  said.  "We  shall  have 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  they  can  arrive." 

Borrowdean  assented  silently.  He  was  glad  of  the 
respite,  for  he  wanted  to  think.  A  few  minutes'  swift 
rush  through  the  air,  and  the  car  pulled  up  before  a 
queer,  old-fashioned  dwelling  house  in  the  middle  of 
the  village.  A  smart  maid-servant  came  hurrying  out 
to  assist  her  mistress.  Borrowdean  was  ushered  into 


THE  WOMAN  WITH  AN  ALIAS  17 

a  long,  low  drawing-room,  with  open  windows  leading 
out  on  to  a  trim  lawn.  Beyond  was  a  walled  garden 
bordering  the  churchyard. 

Mrs.  Handsell  came  back  almost  immediately.  Bor- 
rowdean,  turning  his  head  as  she  entered,  found  himself 
studying  her  with  a  new  curiosity.  Yes,  she  was  a 
beautiful  woman.  She  had  lost  nothing.  Her  com- 
plexion—  a  little  tanned,  perhaps  —  was  as  fresh  and 
soft  as  a  girl's,  her  smile  as  delightfully  full  of  humour 
as  ever.  Not  a  speck  of  grey  in  her  black  hair,  not  a 
shadow  of  embarrassment.  A  wonderful  woman! 

"The  one  thing  which  we  have  no  time  to  do  is  to 
stand  and  look  at  one  another,"  she  declared.  "  How- 
ever, since  you  have  tried  to  stare  me  out  of  counte- 
nance, what  do  you  find?" 

"I  find  you  unchanged,"  he  answered,  gravely. 

"Naturally!  I  have  found  a  panacea  for  all  the 
woes  of  life.  Now  what  do  you  want  down  here?" 

"Mannering!" 

"Of  course.  But  you  won't  get  him.  He  declares 
that  he  has  finished  with  politics,  and  I  never  knew 
a  man  so  thoroughly  in  earnest." 

Borrowdean  smiled. 

"No  man  has  ever  finished  with  politics!" 

"A  platitude,"  she  declared.  "As  for  Mannering, 
well,  for  the  first  few  weeks  I  felt  about  him  as  I 
suppose  you  do  now.  I  know  him  better  now,  and 
I  have  changed  my  mind.  He  is  unique,  absolutely 
unique!  Do  you  think  that  I  could  have  existed  here 
for  nearly  two  months  without  him?" 

"May  I  inquire,"  Borrowdean  asked,  blandly,  "how 
much  longer  you  intend  to  exist  here  with  him?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 


18  A  LOST  LEADER 

"  All  my  days  —  perhaps !  He  and  this  place  together 
are  an  anchorage.  Look  at  me!  Am  I  not  a  different 
woman?  I  know  you  too  well,  my  dear  Leslie,  to 
attempt  your  conversion,  but  I  can  assure  you  that 
I  am — very  nearly  in  earnest!" 

"You  interest  me  amazingly,"  he  remarked,  smiling. 
"May  I  ask,  does  Mannermg  know  you  as  Mrs.  Handsell 
only?" 

"Of  course!" 

"This,"  he  continued,  "is  not  the  Garden  of  Eden. 
I  may  be  the  first,  but  others  will  come  who  will  surely 
recognize  you." 

"I  must  risk  it,"  she  answered. 

Borrowdean  swung  his  eyeglass  backwards  and 
forwards.  All  the  tune  he  was  thinking  intensely. 

"How  long  have  you  been  here?"  he  asked. 

"Very  nearly  two  months,"  she  answered.  "Im- 
agine it!" 

"Quite  long  enough  for  your  little  idyll,"  he  said. 
"Come,  you  know  what  the  end  of  it  must  be.  We 
need  Mannermg!  Help  us!" 

"Not  I,"  she  answered,  coolly.  "You  must  do  with- 
out him  for  the  present." 

"You  are  our  natural  ally,"  he  protested.  "We 
need  your  help  now.  You  know  very  well  that  with 
a  slip  of  the  tongue  I  could  change  the  whole  situ- 
ation." 

"Somehow,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  think  that  you  are 
likely  to  make  that  slip." 

"Why  not?"  he  protested.  "I  begin  to  understand 
Mannering's  firmness  now.  You  are  one  of  the  ropes 
which  hold  him  to  this  petty  life — to  this  philan- 
dering amongst  the  flower-pots.  You  are  one  of  the 


THE  WOMAN  WITH  AN  ALIAS  19 

ropes  I  want  to  cut.  Why  not,  indeed?  I  think  that 
I  could  do  it." 

"Do  you  want  a  bribe?" 

"I  want  Mannering." 

"So  do  I!" 

"He  can  belong  to  you  none  the  less  for  belonging 
to  us  politically." 

"Possibly!  But  I  prefer  him  here.  As  a  recluse  he  is 
adorable.  I  do  not  want  him  to  go  through  the  mill." 

"You  don't  understand  his  importance  to  us," 
Borrowdean  declared.  "This  is  really  no  light  affair. 
Rochester  and  Mellors  both  believe  in  him.  There 
is  no  limit  to  what  he  might  not  ask." 

"He  has  told  me  a  dozen  times,"  she  said,  "that 
he  never  means  to  sit  in  Parliament  again." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  he  should  not  change  his 
mind,"  Borrowdean  answered.  "Between  us,  I  think 
that  we  could  induce  him." 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered.  "Only  I  do  not  mean 
to  try." 

"I  wish  I  could  make  you  understand,"  he  said 
impatiently,  "that  I  am  in  deadly  earnest." 

"You  threaten?" 

"Don't  call  it  that." 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  declared,  "I  will  tell  him  the 
truth  myself." 

"That,"  he  answered,  "is  all  that  I  should  dare  to 
ask.  He  would  come  to  us  to-morrow." 

"You  used  not  to  underrate  me,"  she  murmured, 
with  a  glance  towards  the  mirror. 

"There  is  no  other  man  like  Mannering,"  he  said. 
"He  abhors  any  form  of  deceit.  He  would  forgive  a 
murderer,  but  never  a  liar." 


20  A  LOST   LEADER 

"My  dear  Leslie,"  she  said,  "as  a  friend — and  a 
relative— 

"Neither  counts,"  he  interrupted.  "I  am  a  poli- 
tician." 

She  sat  quite  still,  looking  away  from  him.  The 
peaceful  noises  from  the  village  street  found  their  way 
into  the  room.  A  few  cows  were  making  their  leisurely 
midday  journey  towards  the  pasturage,  a  baker's  cart 
came  rattling  round  the  corner.  The  west  wind  was 
rustling  in  the  elms,  bending  the  shrubs  upon  the  lawn 
almost  to  the  ground.  She  watched  them  idly,  already 
a  little  shrivelled  and  tarnished  with  their  endless 
struggle  for  life. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  be  melodramatic,"  she  said,  slowly, 
"but  you  are  forcing  me  into  a  corner.  You  know 
that  I  am  rich.  You  know  the  people  with  whom  I 
have  influence.  I  want  to  purchase  Lawrence  Man- 
nering's  immunity  from  your  schemes.  Can  you  name 
no  price  which  I  could  pay?  You  and  I  know  one 
another  fairly  well.  You  are  an  egoist,  pure  and 
simple.  Politics  are  nothing  to  you  save  a  personal 
affair.  You  play  the  game  of  life  in  the  first  person 
singular.  Let  me  pay  his  quittance." 

Borrowdean  regarded  her  thoughtfully. 

"You  are  a  strange  woman,"  he  said.  "In  a  few 
months'  time,  when  you  are  back  in  the  thick  of  it 
all,  you  will  be  as  anxious  to  have  him  there  as  we  are. 
You  will  not  be  able  to  understand  how  you  could 
ever  have  wished  differently.  This  is  rank  sentiment, 
you  know,  which  you  have  been  talking.  Mannering 
here  is  a  wasted  power.  His  life  is  an  unnatural  one." 

"He  is  happy,"  she  objected. 

"How  do  you  know?    Will  he  be  as  happy,  I  wonder, 


THE  WOMAN  WITH  AN  ALIAS  21 

when  you  have  gone,  when  there  is  no  longer  a  Mrs. 
Handsell?  I  think  not!  You  are  one  of  the  first  to 
whom  I  should  have  looked  for  help  in  this  matter. 
You  owe  it  to  us.  We  have  a  right  to  demand  it.  For 
myself  personally  I  have  no  life  now  outside  the  Me 
political.  I  am  tired  of  being  in  opposition.  I  want 
to  hold  office.  One  mounts  the  ladder  very  slowly. 
I  see  my  way  hi  a  few  months  to  going  up  two  rungs 
at  a  time.  We  want  Mannering.  We  must  have  him. 
Don't  force  me  to  make  that  slip  of  the  tongue." 

The  sound  of  a  gong  came  through  the  open  window. 
She  rose  to  her  feet. 

"We  are  keeping  them  waiting  for  luncheon,"  she 
remarked.  "I  will  think  over  what  you  have  said." 


CHAPTER  III 

WANTED — A   POLITICIAN 

SIR  LESLIE  carefully  closed  the  iron  gate  behind 
him,  and  looked  around. 

"But  where,"  he  asked,  "are  the  roses?" 

Clara  laughed  outright. 

"You  may  be  a  great  politician,  Sir  Leslie,"  she  de- 
clared, "but  you  are  no  gardener.  Roses  don't  bloom 
out  of  doors  in  May — not  in  these  parts  at  any  rate." 

"I  understand,"  he  assented,  humbly.  "This  is 
where  the  roses  will  be." 

She  nodded. 

"That  wall,  you  see,"  she  explained,  "keeps  off  the 
north  winds,  and  the  chestnut  grove  the  east.  There 
is  sun  here  all  the  day  long.  You  should  come  to 
Blakely  in  two  months'  time,  Sir  Leslie.  Everything 
is  so  different  then." 

He  sighed. 

"You  forget,  my  dear  child,"  he  murmured,  "that 
you  are  speaking  to  a  slave." 

"A  slave!"  she  repeated.  "How  absurd!"  You  are 
a  Cabinet  Minister,  are  you  not,  Sir  Leslie?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  was  once,"  he  answered,  "until  an  ungrateful 
country  grew  weary  of  the  monotony  of  perfect  gov- 
ernment and  installed  our  opponents  hi  our  places. 
Just  now  we  are  in  opposition." 

"In  opposition,"  she  repeated,  a  little  vaguely. 


WANTED— A  POLITICIAN  23 

"Meaning,"  he  explained,  "that  we  get  all  the  fun, 
no  responsibility,  and,  alas,  no  pay." 

"How  fascinating,"  she  exclaimed.  "Do  sit  down 
here,  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  But  I  forgot.  You  are 
not  used  to  sitting  down  out  of  doors.  Perhaps  you 
will  catch  cold." 

Sir  Leslie  smiled. 

"I  am  inclined  to  run  the  risk,"  he  said  gravely, 
"if  you  will  share  it.  Seriously,  though,  these  rustic 
seats  are  rather  a  delusion,  aren't  they,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  comfort?" 

"There  shall  be  cushions,"  she  declared,  "for  the 
next  time  you  come." 

He  sighed. 

"Ah,  the  next  time!  I  dare  not  look  forward  to  it. 
So  you  are  interested  in  politics,  Miss  Mannering?" 

"Well,  I  believe  I  am,"  she  answered,  a  little 
doubtfully.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  Sir  Leslie,  I  am 
shockingly  ignorant.  You  must  live  in  London  to 
be  a  politician,  mustn't  you?" 

"It  is  necessary,"  he  assented,  "to  spend  some  part 
of  your  time  there,  if  you  want  to  come  into  touch 
with  the  real  thing." 

"Then  I  am  very  interested  in  politics,"  she  declared. 
"Please  go  on." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  would  rather  you  talked  to  me  about  the  roses. 
You  should  ask  your  uncle  to  tell  you  all  about  politics. 
He  knows  far  more  than  I  do." 

"More  than  you!  But  you  have  been  a  Cabinet 
Minister!"  she  exclaimed. 

"So  was  your  uncle  once,"  he  answered.  "So  he 
could  be  again  whenever  he  chose." 


24  A  LOST  LEADER 

She  looked  at  him  incredulously. 

"You  don't  really  mean  that,  Sir  Leslie?" 

"Indeed  I  do!"  he  asserted.  "There  was  never  a 
man  within  my  recollection  or  knowledge  who  in  so 
short  a  tune  made  for  himself  a  position  so  brilliant 
as  your  uncle.  There  is  no  man  to-day  whose  written 
word  carries  so  much  weight  with  the  people." 

She  sighed  a  little  doubtfully. 

"Then  if  that  is  so,"  she  said,  "I  cannot  imagine 
why  we  live  down  here,  hundreds  of  miles  away  from 
everywhere.  Why  did  he  give  it  up?  Why  is  he 
not  in  Parliament  now?" 

"It  is  to  ask  him  that  question,  Miss  Mannering," 
Borrowdean  said,  "that  I  am  here.  No  wonder  it 
seems  surprising  to  you.  It  is  surprising  to  all 
of  us." 

She  looked  at  him  eagerly. 

"You  mean,  then,  that  you — that  his  party  want 
him  to  go  back?"  she  asked. 

"Assuredly!" 

"You  have  told  him  this?" 

"Of  course!    It  was  my  mission!" 

"Sir  Leslie,  you  must  tell  me  what  he  said." 

Borrowdean  sighed. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  he  said,  "it  is  rather  a  pain- 
ful subject  with  me  just  now.  Yet  since  you  insist, 
I  will  tell  you.  Something  has  come  over  your  uncle 
which  I  do  not  understand.  His  party — no,  it  is  his 
country  that  needs  him.  He  prefers  to  stay  here,  and 
watch  his  roses  blossom." 

"It  is  wicked  of  him!"  she  declared,  energetically. 

"It  is  inexplicable,"  he  agreed.  "Yet  I  have  used 
every  argument  which  can  well  be  urged." 


WANTED— A  POLITICIAN  25 

"Oh,  you  must  think  of  others,"  she  begged.  "If 
you  knew  how  weary  one  gets  of  this  place  —  a  man, 
too,  like  my  uncle!  How  can  he  be  content?  The 
monotony  here  is  enough  to  drive  even  a  dull  person 
like  myself  mad.  To  choose  such  a  life,  actually  to 
choose  it,  is  insanity!" 

Borrowdean  raised  his  head.  He  had  heard  the 
click  of  the  garden  gate. 

"They  are  coming,"  he  said.  "I  wish  you  would 
talk  to  your  uncle  like  this." 

"I  only  wish,"  she  answered,  passionately,  "that  I 
could  make  him  feel  as  I  do." 

They  entered  the  garden,  Mannering,  bareheaded, 
following  his  guest.  Borrowdean  watched  them  closely 
as  they  approached.  The  woman's  expression  was 
purely  negative.  There  was  nothing  to  be  learned 
from  the  languid  smile  with  which  she  recognized 
their  presence.  Upon  Mannering,  however,  the  cloud 
seemed  already  to  have  fallen.  His  eyebrows  were 
set  in  a  frown.  He  had  the  appearance  of  a  man  in 
some  manner  perplexed.  He  carried  two  telegrams, 
which  he  handed  over  to  Borrowdean. 

"A  boy  on  a  bicycle,"  he  remarked,  "is  waiting  for 
answers.  Two  telegrams  at  once  is  a  thing  wholly 
unheard  of  here,  Borrowdean.  You  really  ought  not 
to  have  disturbed  our  postal  service  to  such  an 
extent." 

Borrowdean  smiled  as  he  tore  them  open. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  I  can  guess  their  contents. 
Yes,  I  thought  so.  Can  you  send  me  to  the  station, 
Mannering?" 

"I  can  —  if  it  is  necessary,"  Mannering  answered, 
"Must  you  really  go?" 


26  A  LOST  LEADER 

Borrowdean  nodded. 

"I  must  be  in  the  House  to-night,"  he  said,  a  little 
wearily.  "Rochester  is  going  for  them  again." 

"You  didn't  take  a  pair?"  Mannering  asked. 

"It  isn't  altogether  that,"  Borrowdean  answered, 
"though  Heaven  knows  we  can't  spare  a  single  vote 
just  now.  Rochester  wants  me  to  speak.  We  are  a 
used-up  lot,  and  no  mistake.  We  want  new  blood, 
Mannering!" 

"I  trust  that  the  next  election,"  Mannering  said, 
"may  supply  you  with  it.  Will  you  walk  round 
to  the  stables  with  me?  I  must  order  a  cart  for 
you." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to,"  Borrowdean  answered. 

They  walked  side  by  side  through  the  chestnut 
grove.  Borrowdean  laid  his  hand  upon  his  friend's 
arm. 

"Mannering,"  he  said,  slowly,  "am  I  to  take  it  that 
you  have  spoken  your  last  word?  I  am  to  write  my 
mission  down  a  failure?" 

"A  failure  without  doubt,  so  far  as  regards  its 
immediate  object,"  Mannering  assented.  "For  the 
rest,  it  has  been  very  pleasant  to  see  you  again, 
and  I  only  wish  that  you  could  spare  us  a  few  more 
days." 

Borrowdean  shook  his  head. 

"We  are  better  apart  just  now,  Mannering,"  he 
said,  "for  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  do  not  understand 
your  present  attitude  towards  life — your  entire  absence 
of  all  sense  of  moral  responsibility.  Are  you  indeed 
willing  to  be  written  down  in  history  as  a  philanderer 
in  great  things,  to  loiter  in  your  flower  gardens,  whilst 
other  men  fight  the  battle  of  life  for  you  and  your 


WANTED— A  POLITICIAN  27 

fellows?  Persist  in  your  refusal  to  help  us,  if  you  will, 
Mannering,  but  before  I  go  you  shall  at  least  hear  the 
truth." 

Mannering  smiled. 

"Be  precise,  my  dear  friend.  I  shall  hear  your  view 
of  the  truth!" 

"I  do  not  accept  the  correction,"  Borrowdean  an- 
swered, quickly.  "  There  are  times  when  a  man  can 
make  no  mistake,  and  this  is  one  of  them.  You  shall 
hear  the  truth  from  me  this  afternoon,  and  when  your 
days  here  have  been  spun  out  to  their  limit — your 
days  of  sybaritic  idleness — you  shall  hear  it  again, 
only  it  will  be  too  late.  You  are  fighting  against 
Nature,  Mannering.  You  were  born  to  rule,  to  be 
master  over  men.  You  have  that  nameless  gift  of 
genius — power — the  gift  of  swaying  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  your  fellow  men.  Once  you  accepted  your 
destiny.  Your  feet  were  firmly  planted  upon  the  great 
ladder.  You  could  have  climbed — where  you  would." 

A  curious  quietness  seemed  to  have  crept  over  Man- 
nering. When  he  answered,  his  voice  seemed  to  rise 
scarcely  above  a  whisper. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  "it  was  not  worth  while!" 

Borrowdean  was  almost  angry. 

"Not  worth  while,"  he  repeated,  contemptuously. 
"Is  it  worth  while,  then,  to  play  golf,  to  linger  in 
your  flower  gardens,  to  become  a  dilettante  student, 
to  dream  away  your  days  in  the  idleness  of  a  purely 
enervating  culture?  What  is  it  that  I  heard  you  your- 
self say  once — that  life  apart  from  one's  fellows  must 
always  lack  robustness.  You  have  the  instincts  of  the 
creator,  Mannering.  You  cannot  stifle  them.  Some 
day  the  cry  of  the  world  to  its  own  children  will  find 


28  A  LOST  LEADER 

its  echo  in  your  heart,  and  it  may  be  too  late.  For 
sooner  or  later,  my  friend,  the  place  of  all  men  on  earth 
is  filled." 

For  a  moment  that  somewhat  cynical  restraint  which 
seemed  to  divest  of  enthusiasm  Borrowdean's  most 
earnest  words,  and  which  militated  somewhat  against 
his  reputation  as  a  public  speaker,  seemed  to  have 
fallen  from  him.  Mannering,  recognizing  it,  answered 
him  gravely  enough,  though  with  no  less  decision. 

"If  you  are  right,  Borrowdean,"  he  said,  "the  suf- 
fering will  be  mine.  Come,  your  time  is  short  now. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  make  your  adieux  to  my  niece 
and  Mrs.  Handsell." 

They  all  came  out  into  the  drive  to  see  him  start. 
A  curious  change  had  come  over  the  bright  spring  day. 
A  grey  sea-fog  had  drifted  inland,  the  sunlight  was 
obscured,  the  larks  were  silent.  Borrowdean  shivered 
a  little  as  he  turned  up  his  coat-collar. 

"So  Nature  has  her  little  caprices,  even — in  para- 
dise!" he  remarked. 

"It  will  blow  over  hi  an  hour,"  Mannering  said. 
"A  breath  of  wind,  and  the  whole  thing  is  gone." 

Borrowdean's  farewells  were  of  the  briefest.  He 
made  no  furthur  allusion  to  the  object  of  his  visit.  He 
departed  as  one  who  had  been  paying  an  afternoon 
call  more  or  less  agreeable.  Clara  waved  her  hand 
until  he  was  out  of  sight,  then  she  turned  somewhat 
abruptly  round  and  entered  the  house.  Mannering 
and  Mrs.  Handsell  remained  for  a  few  moments  hi 
the  avenue,  looking  along  the  road.  The  sound  of 
the  horse's  feet  could  still  be  heard,  but  the  trap 
itself  was  long  since  invisible. 

"The  passing  of  your  friend,"  she  remarked,  quietly, 


WANTED— A  POLITICIAN  29 

"is  almost  allegorical.  He  has  gone  into  the  land  of 
ghosts — or  are  we  the  ghosts,  I  wonder,  who  loiter 
here?" 

Mannering  answered  her  without  a  touch  of  levity. 
He,  too,  was  unusually  serious. 

"We  have  the  better  part,"  he  said.  "Yet  Borrow- 
dean  is  one  of  those  men  who  know  very  well  how  to 
play  upon  the  heartstrings.  A  human  being  is  like 
a  musical  instrument  to  him.  He  knows  how  to  find 
out  the  harmonies  or  strike  the  discords." 

She  turned  away. 

"I  am  superstitious,"  she  murmured,  with  a  little 
shiver.  "I  suppose  that  it  is  this  ghostly  mist,  and 
the  silence  which  has  come  with  it.  Yet  I  wish  that 
your  friend  had  stayed  away  from  Blakely!" 

Upstairs  from  her  window  Clara  also  was  gazing 
along  the  road  where  Borrowdean  had  disappeared. 
And  Borrowdean  himself  was  puzzling  over  a  third 
telegram  which  Mannering  had  carelessly  passed  on 
to  him  with  his  own,  and  which,  although  it  was 
clearly  addressed  to  Mannering,  he  had,  after  a  few 
minutes'  hesitation,  opened.  It  had  been  handed  in 
at  the  Strand  Post-office. 

"  I  must  see  you  this  week. — Blanche." 

A  few  hours  later,  on  his  arrival  in  London,  Borrow- 
dean repeated  this  message  to  Mannering  from  the 
same  post-office,  and  quietly  tearing  up  the  original 
went  down  to  the  House. 

"I  cannot  tell,"  he  reported  to  his  chief,  "whether 
we  have  succeeded  or  not.  In  a  fortnight  or  less  we 
shall  know." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION 

CLARA  stepped  through  the  high  French  win- 
dow, and  with  skirts  a  little  raised  crossed  the 
lawn.  Lindsay,  who  was  following  her,  stopped  to 
light  a  cigarette. 

"We're  getting  frightfully  modern,"  she  remarked, 
turning  and  waiting  for  him.  "Mrs.  Handsell  and  I 
ought  to  have  come  out  here,  and  you  and  uncle  ought 
to  have  stayed  and  yawned  at  one  another  over  the 
dinner-table." 

"You  have  an  excellent  preceptress — hi  modernity," 
he  remarked.  "May  I?" 

"If  you  mean  smoke,  of  course  you  may,"  she 
answered.  "But  you  may  not  say  or  think  horrid 
things  about  my  best  friend.  She's  a  dear,  wonder- 
ful woman,  and  I'm  sure  uncle  has  not  been  like  the 
same  man  since  she  came." 

"I'm  glad  you  appreciate  that,"  he  answered.  "Do 
you  honestly  think  he's  any  the  better  for  it?" 

"I  think  he's  immensely  improved,"  she  answered. 
"He  doesn't  grub  about  by  himself  nearly  so  much, 
and  he's  had  his  hair  cut.  I'm  sure  he  looks  years 
younger." 

"Do  you  think  that  he  seems  quite  as  contented?" 

"Contented!"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "That's  just 
like  you,  Richard.  He  hasn't  any  right  to  be  contented. 
No  one  has.  It  is  the  one  absolutely  fatal  state." 


THE  DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION         31 

He  stretched  himself  out  upon  the  seat,  and 
frowned. 

"You're  picking  up  some  strange  ideas,  Clara,"  he 
remarked. 

"Well,  if  I  am,  that's  better  than  being  contented 
to  all  eternity  with  the  old  ones,"  she  replied.  "Mrs. 
Handsell  is  doing  us  all  no  end  of  good.  She  makes 
us  think!  We  all  ought  to  think,  Richard." 

"What  on  earth  for?" 

"You  are  really  hopeless,"  she  murmured.  "So 
bucolic — " 

"Thanks,"  he  interrupted.  "I  seem  to  recognize 
the  inspiration.  I  hate  that  woman." 

"My  dear  Richard!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Well,  I  do!"  he  persisted.  "When  she  first  came 
she  was  all  right.  That  fellow  Borrowdean  seems  to 
have  done  all  the  mischief." 

"Poor  Sir  Leslie!"  she  exclaimed,  demurely.  I 
thought  him  so  delightful." 

"Obviously,"  he  replied.  "I  didn't,  I  hate  a  fel- 
low who  doesn't  do  things  himself,  and  has  a  way 
of  looking  on  which  makes  you  feel  a  perfect  idiot. 
Neither  Mr.  Mannering  nor  Mrs.  Handsell — nor  you 
— have  been  the  same  since  he  was  here.'"' 

"I  gather,"  she  said,  softly,  "that  you  do  not  find 
us  improved." 

"I  do  not,"  he  answered,  stolidly.  "Mrs.  Handsell 
has  begun  to  talk  to  you  now  about  London,  of  the 
theatres,  the  dressmakers,  Hurlingham,  Ranelagh, 
race  meetings,  society,  and  all  that  sort  of  rot.  She 
talks  of  them  very  cleverly.  She  knows  how  to  make 
the  tinsel  sparkle  like  real  gold." 

She  laughed  softly. 


32  A  LOST  LEADER 

"You  are  positively  eloquent,  Richard,"  she  declared. 
"Do  go  on!" 

"Then  she  goes  for  your  uncle,"  he  continued,  with- 
out heeding  her  interruption.  "She  speaks  of  Parlia- 
ment, of  great  causes,  of  ambition,  until  his  eyes  are 
on  fire.  She  describes  new  pleasures  to  you,  and  you 
sit  at  her  feet,  a  mute  worshipper!  I  can't  think 
why  she  ever  came  here.  She's  absolutely  the  wrong 
sort  of  woman  for  a  quiet  country  place  like  this.  I 
wish  I'd  never  let  her  the  place." 

"You  are  a  very  foolish  person,"  she  answered. 
"She  came  here  simply  because  she  was  weary  of 
cities  and  wanted  to  get  as  far  away  from  them  as 
possible.  Only  last  night  she  said  that  she  would 
be  content  never  to  breathe  the  air  of  a  town  again." 

Lindsay  tossed  his  cigarette  away  impatiently. 

"Oh,  I  know  exactly  her  way  of  saying  that  sort  of 
thing!"  he  exclaimed.  "A  moment  later  she  would 
be  describing  very  cleverly,  and  a  little  regretfully, 
some  wonderful  sight  or  other  only  to  be  found  in 
London." 

"Really,"  she  declared,  "I  am  getting  afraid  of  you. 
You  are  more  observant  than  I  thought." 

"There  is  one  gift,  at  least,"  he  answered,  "which 
we  country  folk  are  supposed  to  possess.  We  know 
truth  when  we  see  it.  But  I  am  saying  more  than  I 
have  any  right  to.  I  don't  want  to  make  you  angry, 
Clara!" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  won't  do  that,"  she  said.  "But  I  don't  think 
you  quite  understand.  Let  me  tell  you  something. 
You  know  that  I  am  an  orphan,  don't  you?  I  do  not 
remember  my  father  at  all,  and  I  can  only  just  remem- 


THE  DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION         33 

ber  my  mother.  I  was  brought  up  at  a  pleasant  but 
very  dreary  boarding-school.  I  had  very  few  friends, 
and  no  one  came  to  see  me  except  my  uncle,  who  was 
always  very  kind,  but  always  in  a  desperate  hurry. 
I  stayed  there  until  I  was  seventeen.  Then  my  uncle 
came  and  fetched  me,  and  brought  me  straight  here. 
Now  that  is  exactly  what  my  life  has  been.  What  do 
you  think  of  it?" 

"Very  dull  indeed,"  he  answered,  frankly. 

She  nodded. 

"I  have  never  been  in  London  at  all,"  she  continued. 
"I  really  only  know  what  men  and  women  are  like 
from  books,  or  the  one  or  two  types  I  have  met 
around  here.  Now,  do  you  think  that  that  is  enough 
to  satisfy  one?  Of  course  it  is  very  beautiful  here,  I 
know,  and  sometimes  when  the  sun  is  shining  and  the 
birds  singing  and  the  sea  comes  up  into  the  creeks, 
well,  one  almost  feels  content.  But  the  sun  doesn't 
aways  shine,  Richard,  and  there  are  times  when  I  am 
right  down  bored,  and  I  feel  as  though  I'd  love  to 
draw  my  allowance  from  uncle,  pack  my  trunk,  and 
go  up  to  London,  on  my  own!" 

He  laughed.  Somehow  all  that  she  had  said  had 
sounded  so  natural  that  some  part  of  his  uneasiness 
was  already  passing  away. 

"Yours,"  he  admitted,  "is  an  extreme  case.  I 
really  don't  know  why  your  uncle  has  never  taken 
you  up  for  a  month  or  so  in  the  season." 

"We  have  lived  here  for  four  years,"  she  said,  "and 
he  has  never  once  suggested  it.  He  goes  himself, 
of  course,  sometimes,  but  I  am  quite  sure  that  he 
doesn't  enjoy  it.  For  days  before  he  fidgets  about 
and  looks  perfectly  miserable,  and  when  he  comes 


34  A  LOST  LEADER 

back  he  always  goes  off  for  a  long  walk  by  himself. 
I  am  perfectly  certain  that  for  some  reason  or  other 
he  hates  going.  Yet  he  seems  to  have  been  every- 
where, to  know  every  one.  To  hear  him  talk  with 
Mrs.  Handsell  is  like  a  new  Arabian  Nights  to  me." 

He  nodded. 

"Your  uncle  was  a  very  distinguished  man,"  he  said. 
"I  was  only  at  college  then,  but  I  remember  what  a 
fuss  there  was  in  all  the  papers  when  he  resigned  his 
seat." 

"What  did  they  say  was  the  reason?"  she  asked, 
eagerly. 

"A  slight  disagreement  with  Lord  Rochester,  and 
ill-health." 

"Absurd!"  she  exclaimed.  "Uncle  is  as  strong  as 
a  horse." 

"Would  you  like  him,"  he  asked,  "to  go  back  into 
political  life?" 

Her  eyes  sparkled. 

"Of  course  I  should." 

"You  may  have  your  wish,"  he  said,  a  little  sadly. 
"I  don't  fancy  he  has  been  quite  the  same  man  since 
Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  was  here,  and  Mrs.  Handsell 
never  leaves  him  alone  for  a  moment." 

She  laughed. 

"You  talk  as  though  they  were  conspirators!"  she 
exclaimed. 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  believe  them  to  be,"  he 
answered,  grimly. 

"Richard!" 

"Can't  help  it,"  he  declared.  "I  will  tell  you  some- 
thing that  I  have  no  right  to  tell  you.  Mrs.  Handsell 
is  not  your  friend's  real  name." 


THE  DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION         35 

"Richard,  how  exciting!"  she  exclaimed.  "Do  tell 
me  how  you  know." 

"Her  solicitors  told  mine  so  when  she  took  the 
farm." 

"Not  her  real  name?  But — I  wonder  they  let  it 
to  her." 

"Oh,  her  references  were  all  right,"  he  answered. 
"My  people  saw  to  that.  I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate 
for  a  moment  that  she  had  any  improper  reasons 
for  calling  herself  Mrs.  Handsell,  or  anything  else 
she  liked.  The  explanations  given  were  quite  satis- 
factory. But  she  has  become  very  friendly  with  you 
and  with  your  uncle,  and  I  think  that  she  ought  to 
have  told  you  both  about  it." 

"Do  you  know  her  real  name?" 

"No!  It  is  not  my  affair.  My  solicitors  knew, 
and  they  were  satisfied.  Perhaps  I  ought  not  to  have 
told  you  this,  but — 

"Hush!"  she  said.  "They  are  coming  out.  If 
you  like  you  can  take  me  down  to  the  orchard  wall, 
and  we  will  watch  the  tide  come  in — 

Mannering  came  out  alone  and  looked  around.  The 
full  moon  was  creeping  into  the  sky.  The  breath  of 
wind  which  shook  the  leaves  of  the  tall  elm  trees  that 
shut  in  his  little  demesne  from  the  village,  was  soft, 
and,  for  the  time  of  year,  wonderfully  mild.  Below, 
through  the  orchard  trees,  were  faint  visions  of  the 
marshland,  riven  with  creeks  of  silvery  sea.  He  turned 
back  towards  the  room,  where  red-shaded  lamps  still 
stood  upon  the  white  tablecloth,  a  curiously  artificial 
daub  of  color  after  the  splendour  of  the  moonlit  land. 

"The  night  is  perfect,"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you 
need  a  wrap,  or  are  you  sufficiently  acclimatized?" 


36  A  LOST  LEADER 

She  came  out  to  him,  tall  and  slender  in  her  black 
dinner  gown,  the  figure  of  a  girl,  the  pale,  passionate 
face  of  a  woman,  to  whom  every  moment  of  life  had 
its  own  special  and  individual  meaning.  Her  eyes 
were  strangely  bright.  There  was  a  tenseness  about 
her  manner,  a  restraint  in  her  tone,  which  seemed  to 
speak  of  some  emotional  crisis.  She  passed  out  into 
the  quiet  garden,  in  itself  so  exquisitely  in  accordance 
with  this  sleeping  land,  and  even  Mannering  was  at 
once  conscious  of  some  alien  note  in  these  old-world 
surroundings  which  had  long  ago  soothed  his  ruffled 
nerves  into  the  luxury  of  repose. 

"A  wrap!"  she  murmured.  "How  absurd!  Come 
and  let  us  sit  under  the  cedar  tree.  Those  young 
people  seem  to  have  wandered  off,  and  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

"I  am  content  to  listen,"  he  answered.  "It  is  a 
night  for  listeners,  this!" 

"I  want  to  talk,"  she  continued,  "and  yet — the 
words  seem  difficult.  These  wonderful  days!  How 
quickly  they  seem  to  have  passed." 

"There  are  others  to  follow,"  he  answered,  smiling. 
"That  is  one  of  the  joys  of  life  here.  One  can  count 
on  things!" 

"Others  for  you!"  she  murmured.  "You  have 
pitched  your  tent.  I  came  here  only  as  a  wanderer." 

"But  scarcely  a  month  ago,"  he  exclaimed,  "you 
too— 

"Don't!"  she  interrupted.  "A  month  ago  it  seemed 
to  me  possible  that  I  might  live  here  always.  I  felt 
myself  growing  young  again.  I  believed  that  I  had 
severed  all  the  ties  which  bound  me  to  the  days  which 
have  gone  before.  I  was  wrong.  It  was  the  sort  of 


THE  DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION         37 

folly  which  comes  to  one  sometimes,  the  sort  of  folly 
for  which  one  pays." 

His  face  was  almost  white  in  the  moonlight.  His 
deep-set  grey  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her. 

"You  were  content — a  month  ago,"  he  said.  "You 
have  been  in  London  for  two  days,  and  you  have 
come  back  a  changed  woman.  Why  must  you  think 
of  leaving  this  place?  Why  need  you  go  at  all?" 

"My  friend,"  she  said,  softly,  "I  think  that  you  know 
why.  It  is  very  beautiful  here,  and  I  have  never  been 
happier  in  all  my  life.  But  one  may  not  linger  all 
one's  days  in  the  pleasant  places.  One  sleeps  through 
the  nights  and  is  rested,  but  the  days — ah,  they  are 
different." 

"I  cannot  reason  with  you,"  he  said.  "You  are  too 
vague.  Yet — you  say  that  you  have  been  contented 
here." 

"I  have  been  happy,"  she  murmured. 

"Then  you  must  speak  more  plainly,"  he  insisted, 
a  note  of  passion  throbbing  in  his  hoarse  tones.  "I 
ask  you  again — why  do  you  talk  of  going  back,  like  a 
city  slave  whose  days  of  holiday  are  over?  What  is 
there  in  the  world  more  beautiful  than  the  gifts  the 
gods  shower  on  us  here?  We  have  the  sun,  and  the 
sea,  and  the  wind  by  day  and  by  night — this!  It  is 
the  flower  garden  of  life.  Stay  and  pluck  the  roses 
with  me." 

"Ah,  my  friend,"  she  murmured,  "if  that  were 
possible!" 

She  sank  down  into  the  seat  under  the  cedar  tree. 
Her  hands  were  clasped  nervously  together,  her  head 
was  downcast. 

"Your   words,"    she    continued,    her   voice   sinking 


38  A  LOST  LEADER 

almost  to  a  whisper,  yet  lacking  nothing  in  distinct- 
ness, "are  like  wine.  They  mount  to  the  head,  they 
intoxicate,  they  tempt!  And  yet  all  the  time  one 
knows  that  it  is  not  possible.  Surely  you  yourself— 
in  your  heart — must  know  it!" 

"Not  I!"  he  answered,  fiercely.  "The  world  would 
have  claimed  me  if  it  could,  but  I  laughed  at  it.  Our 
destinies  are  our  own.  With  our  own  fingers  we  mould 
and  shape  them." 

"There  is  the  little  voice,"  she  said,  "the  little  voice, 
which  rings  even  through  our  dreams.  Life — actual, 
militant  We,  I  mean — may  have  its  vulgarities,  its 
weariness  and  its  disappointments,  but  it  is,  after  all, 
the  only  place  for  men  and  women.  The  battle  may 
be  sordid,  and  the  prizes  tinsel — yet  it  is  only  the 
cowards  who  linger  without." 

"Then  let  you  and  me  be  cowards,"  he  answered. 
"We  shall  at  least  be  happy." 

She  shook  her  head  a  little  sadly. 

"I  doubt  it,"  she  answered.  "Happiness  is  a  gift, 
not  a  prize.  It  comes  seldom  enough  to  those  who 
seek  it." 

He  laughed  scornfully. 

"I  am  not  a  seeker,"  he  cried.  "I  possess.  It  seems 
to  me  that  all  the  beautiful  things  of  life  are  here  to- 
night. Listen!  Do  you  hear  the  sea,  the  full  tide 
sweeping  softly  up  into  the  land,  a  long  drawn  out 
undernote  of  breathless  harmonies,  the  rustling  of 
leaves  there  in  the  elm  trees,  the  faint  night  wind,  like 
the  murmuring  of  angels?  Lift  your  head!  Was 
there  anything  ever  sweeter  than  the  perfume  from 
that  hedge  of  honeysuckle?  What  can  a  man  want 
more  than  these  things — and " 


THE  DUCHESS  ASKS  A  QUESTION         39 

"Go  on!" 

"And  the  woman  he  loves!  There,  I  have  said  it. 
Useless  words  enough!  You  know  very  well  that  I 
love  you.  I  meant  to  have  said  nothing  just  yet, 
but  who  could  help  it — on  such  a  night  as  this! 
Don't  talk  of  going  away,  Berenice.  I  want  you  here 
always." 

She  held  herself  away  from  him.  Her  face  was 
deathly  white  now.  Her  eyes  questioned  him  fiercely. 

"Before  I  answer  you.  You  were  in  London  last 
week?  " 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"I  had  business." 

"In  Chelsea,  in  Merton  Street?" 

He  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  that?  "  he  asked,  almost 
roughly. 

"You  were  seen  there,  not  for  the  first  time.  The 
person  whom  you  visited — I  have  heard  about.  She 
is  somewhat  notorious,  is  she  not?" 

He  was  very  quiet,  pale  to  the  lips.  A  strange, 
hunted  expression  had  crept  into  his  eyes. 

"I  want  to  know  what  took  you  there.  Am  I 
asking  too  much?  Remember  that  you  have  asked 
me  a  good  deal." 

"Has  Borrowdean  anything  to  do  with  this?"  he 
demanded. 

"I  have  known  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  for  many 
years,"  she  answered,  "and  it  is  quite  true  that  we 
have  discussed  certain  matters — concerning  you." 

"You  have  known  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  for  many 
years,"  he  repeated.  "Yet  you  met  here  as  strangers." 


40  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Sir  Leslie  divined  my  wishes,"  she  answered.  "He 
knew  that  it  was  my  wish  to  spend  several  months 
away  from  everybody,  and,  if  possible,  unrecognized. 
Perhaps  I  had  better  make  my  confession  at  once.  My 
name  is  not  Mrs.  Handsell.  I  am  the  Duchess  of 
Lenchester." 

Mannering  stood  as  though  turned  to  stone.  The 
woman  watched  him  eagerly.  She  waited  for  him  to 
speak — in  vain.  A  sudden  mist  of  tears  blinded  her. 
She  closed  her  eyes.  When  she  opened  them  Mannering 
was  gone. 


T 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   HESITATION   OF    MR.    MANNERING 

'  I  -HE  peculiar  atmosphere  of  the  room,  heavy  with 
A  the  newest  perfume  from  the  Burlington  Arcade, 
and  the  scent  of  exotic  flowers,  at  no  time  pleasing  to 
him,  seemed  more  than  usually  oppressive  to  Mannering 
as  he  fidgetted  about  waiting  for  the  woman  whom  he 
had  come  to  see.  He  was  conscious  of  a  restless  longing 
to  open  wide  the  windows,  take  the  flowers  from  their 
vases,  throw  them  into  the  street,  and  poke  out  the  fire. 
The  little  room,  with  all  its  associations,  its  almost 
pathetic  attempts  at  refinement,  its  furniture  which 
reeked  of  the  Tottenham  Court  Road,  was  suddenly 
hateful  to  him.  He  detested  his  presence  there,  and 
its  object.  He  was  already  in  a  state  of  nervous  dis- 
pleasure when  the  door  opened. 

The  girl  who  entered  seemed  hi  a  sense  as  ill  in 
accord  with  such  surroundings  as  himself.  She  was 
plainly  dressed  in  black,  her  hair  brushed  back,  her 
complexion  pale,  her  eyes  brilliant  with  a  not  alto- 
gether natural  light.  She  regarded  him  with  a  curious 
mixture  of  fear  and  welcome.  The  latter,  however, 
triumphed  easily.  She  came  towards  him  with  out- 
stretched hand  and  a  delightful  smile. 

"You — so  soon  again!"  she  exclaimed.  "Were 
there— so  many  mistakes?" 

Mannering's  face  softened.  He  was  half  ashamed 
of  his  irritation.  He  answered  her  kindly. 


42  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Scarcely  any,  Hester,"  he  answered.  "Your  typing 
is  always  excellent." 

Her  anxiety  was  only  half  allayed. 

"There  is  nothing  else  wrong?"  she  demanded, 
breathlessly. 

"Nothing  whatever,"  he  assured  her.  "Where  is 
your  mother?" 

She  sat  down.    The  light  died  out  of  her  face. 

"Out!"  she  answered.  "Gone  to  Brighton  for  the 
day.  What  do  you  want  with  her?" 

"Nothing,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "I  only  wanted 
to  know  whether  we  were  likely  to  be  interrupted." 

"She  will  not  be  in  for  some  time,"  the  girl  answered. 
"She  is  almost  certain  to  stay  down  there  and  dine." 

He  nodded. 

.  "Hester,"  he  asked,  "do  you  know  any  one — a  man 
named  Borrowdean?    Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean?" 

She  shook  her  head  a  little  doubtfully. 

"I  have  heard  mother  speak  of  him,"  she  said. 

"He  is  a  friend  of  hers,  then?" 

"She  met  him  at  a  supper  party  at  the  Savoy  a  few 
weeks  ago,"  she  answered. 

"And  since?" 

"I  believe  so!  She  talks  about  him  a  great  deal. 
Why  do  you  ask  me  this?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  Hester,"  he  said,  gravely.  "By 
the  bye,  do  you  think  that  she  is  likely  to  have  men- 
tioned my  name  to  him?" 

The  girl  flushed  up  to  her  eyebrows. 

"I — I  don't  know!  I  am  sorry,"  she  faltered.  "You 
know  what  mother  is.  If  any  one  asked  her  questions 
she  would  be  more  than  likely  to  answer  them.  I  do 
hope  that  she  has  not  been  making  mischief." 


HESITATION   OF  MR.   MANNERING        43 

He  left  her  anxiety  unrelieved.  For  some  few 
moments  he  did  not  speak  at  all.  Already  he  fancied 
that  he  could  see  the  whole  pitiful  little  incident — 
Borrowdean,  diplomatic,  genial,  persistent,  the  woman 
a  fool,  fashioned  to  his  own  making;  himself  the 
sacrifice.  Yet  the  meaning  of  it  all  was  dark  to  him. 

She  moved  over  to  his  side.  Her  eyes  and  tone  were 
full  of  appeal.  She  sat  close  to  him,  her  long  white 
fingers  nervously  interlocked. 

"I  am  afraid  of  you.  More  afraid  than  ever  to- 
day," she  murmured.  "You  look  stern,  and  I  don't 
understand  why  you  have  come." 

"To  see  you,  Hester,"  he  answered,  with  a  sudden 
impulse  of  kindness. 

"Ah,  no!"  she  interrupted,  choking  back  a  little 
sob.  "We  both  know  so  well  that  it  is  not  that.  It 
is  pity  which  brings  you,  pity  and  nothing  else.  You 
know  very  well  what  a  difference  it  makes  to  me.  If 
I  have  your  work  to  do,  and  a  letter  sometimes,  and 
see  you  now  and  then,  I  can  bear  everything.  But 
it  is  not  easy.  It  is  never  easy!" 

"Of  course  it  is  not,"  he  assented.  "Hester,  have 
you  thought  over  what  I  said  to  you  last  tune  I  was 
here?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"What  is  the  use  of  thinking?"  she  asked,  quietly. 
"I  could  not  leave  her." 

"You  mean  that  she  would  not  let  you  go?"  Man- 
nering  asked. 

"No!  It  is  not  that,"  the  girl  answered.  "Some- 
times I  think  that  she  would  be  glad.  It  is  not  that." 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"I  understand.     But " 


44  A  LOST  LEADER 

"If  you  understand,  please  do  not  say  any  more." 

"But  I  must,  Hester,"  he  persisted.  "There  is  no 
one  else  to  give  you  advice.  I  know  all  that  you  can 
tell  me,  and  I  say  that  this  is  no  fitting  home  for  you. 
Your  mother's  friends  are  not  fit  friends  for  you.  She 
has  chosen  her  way  in  life,  and  she  will  not  brook  any 
interference.  You  can  do  no  good  by  remaining  with 
her.  On  the  contrary,  you  are  doing  yourself  a  great 
deal  of  harm.  I  am  old  enough  to  be  your  father, 
child.  Wise  enough,  I  hope,  to  be  your  adviser.  You 
shall  be  my  secretary,  and  come  and  live  at  Blakely." 

A  faint  flush  stole  into  her  anaemic  cheeks.  One 
realized  then  that  under  different  conditions  she 
might  have  been  pretty.  Her  face  was  no  longer 
expressionless. 

"You  are  so  kind,"  she  said,  softly.  "I  shall  always 
like  to  think  of  this.  And  yet — it  is  impossible." 

"Why?" 

She  hesitated. 

"It  is  difficult  to  explain,"  she  said.  "But  my  being 
here  makes  a  difference.  I  found  it  out  once  when  I 
went  away  for  a  week.  Some  of — of  mother's  friends 
came  to  the  house  then  whom  she  will  not  have  when 
I  am  here.  If  I  were  away  altogether — oh,  I  can't 
explain,  but  I  would  not  dare  to  go." 

Mannering  seemed  to  have  much  to  say — and  said 
nothing.  This  queer,  pale-faced  girl,  with  her  earnest 
eyes  and  few  simple  words,  had  silenced  him.  She 
was  right — right  at  least  from  her  own  point  of  view. 
A  certain  sense  of  shame  suddenly  oppressed  him.  He 
was  acutely  conscious  of  his  only  half-admitted  reason 
for  this  visit.  He  had  argued  for  himself.  It  was 
his  own  passionate  desire  to  free  himself  from  associa- 


HESITATION  OF  MR.  MANNERING        45 

tions  that  were  little  short  of  loathsome  which  had 
prompted  this  visit.  And  then  what  he  had  dreaded 
most  of  all  happened.  As  they  sat  facing  one  another 
in  the  silent,  half-darkened  room,  Mannering  trying 
to  bring  himself  into  accord  with  half-admitted  but 
repugnant  convictions,  she  watching  him  hopelessly, 
the  tinkle  of  a  hansom  bell  sounded  outside.  The 
sudden  stopping  of  a  horse,  the  rattle  of  a  latchkey, 
and  she  was  in  the  room.  Mannering  rose  to  his  feet 
with  a  little  exclamation. 

The  woman  stood  and  looked  in  upon  them.  She 
wore  a  pink  cloth  gown,  a  flower-garlanded  hat,  a  white 
coaching  veil,  beneath  which  her  features  were  indis- 
tinguishable. She  brought  with  her  a  waft  of  strong 
perfume.  Her  figure  was  a  living  suggestion  of  the 
struggle  between  maturity  and  the  corsetiere.  Before 
she  spoke  she  laughed — not  altogether  pleasantly. 

"You  here  again!"  she  exclaimed  to  Mannering. 
"Upon  my  word!  I'm  not  a  ghost!  Hester,  go  and 
see  about  some  tea,  and  a  brandy  and  soda.  Billy 
Foa  brought  me  up  on  his  motor,  and  I'm  half  choked 
with  dust." 

The  girl  rose  obediently  and  quitted  the  room.  The 
woman  untwisted  her  veil,  drew  out  the  pins  from  her 
hat,  and  threw  both  upon  the  sofa.  Then  she  turned 
suddenly  upon  Mannering. 

"Look  here,"  she  said,  "the  last  twice  you've  been 
here  you  seem  to  have  carefully  chosen  tunes  when 
I  am  out.  I  don't  understand  it.  It  can't  be  that 
you  want  to  see  that  chit  of  a  girl  of  mine.  Why 
don't  you  come  when  I  ask  you?  Why  do  you  act 
as  though  I  were  something  to  be  avoided?" 

Mannering  rose  to  his  feet. 


46  A  LOST  LEADER 

"I  came  today  without  knowing  where  you  were," 
he  answered,  "but  I  will  admit  that  I  wished  to  see 
Hester." 

"What  for?" 

"I  have  asked  her  to  come  and  live  at  Blakely 
with  my  niece  and  myself.  She  is  an  excellent  typist, 
and  I  require  a  secretary." 

The  woman  looked  at  him  angrily.  Without  her 
veil  she  displayed  features  not  in  themselves  unattrac- 
tive, but  a  complexion  somewhat  impaired  by  the 
use  of  cosmetics.  The  powder  upon  her  cheeks  was 
even  then  visible. 

"What  about  me?"  she  asked,  sharply. 

Mannering  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face. 

"I  do  not  think,"  he  said,  "that  such  a  life  would 
suit  you." 

She  was  an  angry  woman,  and  she  did  not  become 
angry  gracefully. 

"You  mean  that  I'm  not  good  enough  for  you  and 
your  friends  hi  the  country.  That's  what  you  mean, 
isn't  it?  And  I  should  like  to  know,  if  I'm  not,  whose 
fault  it  is.  Tell  me  that,  will  you?" 

Mannering  flinched,  though  almost  imperceptibly. 

"I  meant  simply  what  I  said,"  he  said.  "Blake- 
ly would  not  suit  you  at  all.  We  have  few  friends 
there,  and  our  simple  life  would  not  attract  you  hi 
the  slightest.  With  Hester  it  is  different.  She  would 
have  her  work,  in  which  she  takes  some  interest,  and 
I  believe  the  change  would  be  in  every  way  good  for 
her." 

"Well,  she  shan't  come,"  the  woman  said,  throw- 
ing herself  into  a  chair,  and  regarding  him  insolently. 
"I'm  not  going  to  live  all  alone — and  be  talked  about. 


HESITATION  OF  MR.  MANNERING        47 

Don't  stare  at  me  like  that,  Lawrence.  I'm  the  child's 
mother,  am  I  not?" 

"It  is  because  you  are  her  mother,"  he  said,  quietly, 
"that  I  thought  you  might  be  glad  to  find  a  suitable 
home  for  her." 

"What's  good  enough  for  me  ought  to  be  good 
enough  for  her,"  she  answered,  doggedly. 

Mannering  was  silent  for  a  moment.  This  woman 
seemed  to  belong  to  a  different  world  from  that  with 
whose  denizens  he  was  in  any  way  familiar.  Years 
of  isolation,  and  a  certain  epicureanism  of  taste,  from 
which  necessity  had  never  taken  the  fine  edge,  had 
made  him  a  little  intolerant.  He  could  see  nothing 
that  was  not  absolutely  repulsive  in  this  woman, 
whose  fine  eyes  were  seeking  even  now  to  attract  his 
admiration.  She  was  making  the  best  of  herself. 
She  had  chosen  the  darkest  corner  of  the  room,  and 
her  pose  was  not  ungraceful.  Her  skirts  were  skilfully 
raised  to  show  just  as  much  as  possible  of  her  long, 
slender  foot,  with  the  patent  shoes  and  silver  buckles. 
She  knew  that  her  ankles  were  above  reproach,  and 
her  dress  becoming.  A  dozen  men  had  paid  her  com- 
pliments during  the  day,  yet  she  knew  that  every 
admiring  glance,  every  whispered  word  which  had 
come  to  her  to-day,  or  for  many  days  past,  would 
count  for  nothing  if  only  she  could  pierce  for  a  single 
moment  the  unchanging  coldness  of  the  man  who  sat 
watching  her  now  with  the  face  of  a  Sphynx.  A  slow 
tide  of  passion  welled  up  in  her  heart.  Was  not  he  a 
man  and  free,  and  was  not  she  a  woman?  It  was  not 
much  she  asked  from  him,  no  pledge,  no  bondage. 
His  kindness  only,  she  told  herself,  was  all  she  craved. 
She  wanted  him  to  look  at  her  as  other  men  looked 


48  A  LOST  LEADER 

at  her.  Who  was  he  that  he  should  set  himself  on 
a  pedestal?  Perhaps  he  had  grown  shy  from  the  rust 
of  his  country  life,  the  slow  drifting  apart  from  the 
world  of  men  and  women.  Perhaps — she  rose  swiftly 
to  her  feet  and  crossed  the  room. 


"  SHE  LEANED  OVKR  HIM,  ONE  HAND  ON  THE  BACK  OF  HIS  CHAIR  " 

[Page  49 


CHAPTER  VI 

SACRIFICE 

SHE  leaned  over  him,  one  hand  on  the  back  of  his 
chair,  the  other  seeking  in  vain  for  his. 

"Lawrence,"  she  said,  "you  grow  colder  and  more 
unkind  every  day.  What  have  I  done  to  change  you 
so?  I  am  a  foolish  woman,  I  know,  but  there  are 
things  which  I  cannot  forget." 

He  rose  at  once  to  his  feet,  and  stood  apart 
from  her. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "I  believed  that  we  under- 
stood one  another." 

She  laughed  softly. 

"I  am  very  sure  that  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she 
said.  "And  as  for  you — I  do  not  believe  that  you 
have  ever  understood  any  woman.  There  was  a  time, 
Lawrence 

His  impassivity  was  gone.     He  threw  out  his  hands. 

"Remember,"  he  said,  "there  is  a  promise  between 
us.  Don't  break  it.  Don't  dare  to  break  it!" 

She  looked  at  him  curiously.  A  new  idea  concerning 
this  man  and  his  avoidance  of  her  crept  into  her  mind. 
It  was  at  least  consoling  to  her  vanity,  and  it  left  her 
a  chance.  She  had  roused  him  too,  at  last,  and  that 
was  worth  something. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  moving  a  step  towards  him. 
"It  was  a  foolish  promise.  It  has  done  neither  of  us 
any  good.  It  has  spoilt  a  part  of  my  life.  Why 


50  A  LOST  LEADER 

should  I  keep  silence,  and  let  it  go  on  to  the  end? 
Do  you  know  what  it  has  made  of  me,  this  promise?" 

He  shrank  back. 

"Don't!    I  have  done  all  I  could!" 

"All  you  could!"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "You 
drew  a  diagram  of  your  duty,  and  you  have  moved 
like  a  machine  along  the  lines.  You  talk  like  a  Pharisee, 
Lawrence!  Come!  You  knew  me  years  ago!  Do 
you  find  me  changed?  Tell  me  the  truth." 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "you  are  changed." 

She  nodded. 

"You  admit  that.  Perhaps,  perhaps,"  she  con- 
tinued more  slowly,  "there  are  things  about  me  now 
of  which  you  don't  approve.  My  friends  are  a  little 
fast,  I  go  out  alone,  I  daresay  people  have  said  things. 
There,  you  see  I  am  very  frank.  I  mean  to  be!  I 
mean  you  to  know  that  whatever  I  am,  the  fault  is 
yours." 

"You  are  as  God  or  the  Devil  made  you,"  he 
answered,  hardly.  "You  are  what  you  would  have 
become,  hi  any  case." 

"Lawrence!" 

Already  he  hated  the  memory  of  his  words.  True 
or  not,  they  were  spoken  to  a  woman  who  was  cower- 
ing under  them  as  under  a  lash.  He  was  at  a  dis- 
advantage now.  If  she  had  met  him  with  anger  they 
might  have  cried  quits.  But  he  had  seen  her  wince, 
seen  her  sudden  pallor,  and  it  was  not  a  pleasant  sight. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  said.  "I  do  not  know  quite 
what  I  am  saying.  You  have  broken  a  compact 
which  I  had  hoped  might  have  lasted  all  our  days. 
Let  us  be  better  friends,  if  you  will,  but  let  us  keep 
that  promise  which  we  made  to  one  another." 


SACRIFICE  51 

"It  was  so  many  years  ago,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
tone.  "I  am  afraid  to  think  how  many.  It  makes 
me  lonely,  Lawrence,  to  look  ahead.  I  am  afraid  of 
growing  old!" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  Yes,  the  signs  were 
there.  She  was  a  good-looking  woman  to-day,  a 
handsome  woman  in  some  lights,  but  she  had  reached 
the  limit.  It  was  a  matter  of  a  few  years  at  most, 

and  then He  stood  with  his  hands  behind  his 

back. 

"It  is  a  fear  which  we  must  all  share,"  he  said, 
quietly.  "The  only  antidote  is  work." 

"Work!"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "That  is  the 
man's  resource.  What  about  us?  What  about  me?" 

"It  is  no  matter  of  sex,"  he  declared.  "We  all 
make  our  own  choice.  We  are  what  we  make  of 
ourselves." 

"It  is  not  true,"  she  answered,  bluntly.  "Not  with 
us,  at  any  rate.  We  are  what  our  menkind  make  of 
us.  Oh,  what  cowards  you  all  are." 

"Cowards?" 

"Yes.  You  do  what  mischief  you  choose,  and  then 
soothe  your  conscience  with  platitudes.  You  will  take 
hold  of  pleasure  with  both  hands,  but  your  shoulders 
are  not  broad  enough  for  the  pack  of  responsibility. 
Don't  look  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  mile  off,  Lawrence, 
as  though  this  were  simply  an  impersonal  discussion. 
I  am  speaking  to  you — of  you.  You  avoid  me  when- 
ever you  can.  I  don't  often  get  a  chance  of  speaking 
to  you.  You  shall  listen  now.  You  live  the  life  of  a 
poet  and  a  scholar,  they  tell  me.  You  live  in  a  beautiful 
home,  you  take  care  that  nothing  ugly  or  disturbing 
shall  come  near  you.  You  are  pleased  with  it,  aren't 


52  A  LOST  LEADER 

you?  You  think  yourself  better  than  other  men. 
Well,  you  are  making  a  big  mistake.  A  man  doesn't 
have  to  answer  for  his  own  life  only.  He  has  to  carry 
the  burden  of  the  lives  his  influence  has  wrecked  and 
spoilt.  I  know  just  what  you  think  of  me.  I  am  a 
middle-aged  woman,  clinging  to  my  youth  and  pleasures 
— the  sort  of  pleasures  for  which  you  have  a  vast  con- 
tempt. There  isn't  an  hour  of  my  days  of  which  you 
wouldn't  disapprove.  I'm  not  your  sort  of  woman  at 
all.  And  yet  I  was  all  right  once,  Lawrence,  and 
what  I  am  now "  she  paused,  "what  I  am  now — 

Hester  came  in,  followed  by  a  maid  with  the  tea- 
tray.  She  looked  from  one  to  the  other  a  little  anx- 
iously. The  atmosphere  of  the  room  seemed  charged 
with  electricity.  Mannering's  face  was  grey.  Her 
mother  was  nervously  crumpling  into  a  ball  her  tiny 
lace  handkerchief.  Mrs.  Phillimore  rose  abruptly  from 
her  seat. 

"Have  you  got  the  brandy  and  soda,  Hester?"  she 
asked. 

"I'm  afraid  I  forgot  it,  mother,"  the  girl  answered. 
"Mayn't  I  make  you  some  Russian  tea?  I've  had 
the  lemon  sliced." 

The  woman  laughed,  a  little  unnaturally. 

"What  a  dutiful  daughter,"  she  exclaimed.  "That's 
right!  I  want  looking  after,  don't  I?  I'll  have  the 
tea,  Hester,  but  send  it  up  to  my  room.  I'm  going  to 
lie  down.  That  wretched  motoring  has  given  me  a 
headache,  and  I'm  dining  out  to-night.  Good-bye, 
Mr.  Mannering,  if  I  don't  see  you  again." 

She  nodded,  without  glancing  in  his  direction,  and 
left  the  room.  The  maid  arranged  the  tea-tray  and 
departed.  Hester  showed  no  signs  of  being  aware 


SACRIFICE  53 

that  anything  unusual  had  happened.  She  made  a 
little  desultory  conversation.  Mannering  answered  in 
monosyllables. 

When  at  last  he  put  his  cup  down  he  rose  to  go. 

"You  are  quite  sure,  Hester,"  he  said.  "You  have 
made  up  your  mind?" 

She,  too,  rose,  and  came  over  to  him. 

"You  know  that  I  am  right,"  she  answered,  quietly. 
"The  life  you  offer  me  would  be  paradise,  but  I  dare 
not  even  think  of  it.  I  may  not  do  any  good  here, 
perhaps  I  don't,  but  I  can't  come  away." 

"You  are  a  true  daughter  of  your  sex,"  he  said, 
smiling.  "The  keynote  of  your  life  must  be  sacrifice." 

"Perhaps  we  are  not  so  unwise,  after  all,"  she  an- 
swered, "for  I  think  that  there  are  more  happy  women 
in  the  world  than  men." 

"There  are  more,  I  think,  who  deserve  to  be,  dear," 
he  answered,  holding  her  hand  for  a  moment.  "Good- 
bye!" 

Mannering  walked  in  somewhat  abstracted  fashion 
to  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  signalled  for  a  hansom. 
With  his  foot  upon  the  step  he  hesitated. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  DUCHESS'S  "AT  HOME" 

"/"T~VHE  perfect   man,"  the  Duchess  murmured,  as 

JL-  she  stirred  her  tea,  "  does  not  exist.  I  know  a 
dozen  perfect  women,  dear,  dull  creatures,  and  plenty 
of  men  who  know  how  to  cover  up  the  flaw.  But  there 
is  something  in  the  composition  of  the  male  sex  which 
keeps  them  always  a  little  below  the  highest  pinnacle." 

"It  is  purely  a  matter  of  concealment,"  her  friend 
declared.  "Women  are  cleverer  humbugs  than  men." 

Borrowdean  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  know  your  perfect  woman!"  he  remarked,  softly. 
"You  search  for  her  through  the  best  years  of  your 
life,  and  when  you  have  found  her  you  avoid  her. 
That,"  he  added,  handing  his  empty  cup  to  a  footman, 
"is  why  I  am  a  bachelor." 

The  Duchess  regarded  him  complacently. 

"My  dear  Sir  Leslie,"  she  said,  "I  am  afraid  you 
will  have  to  find  a  better  reason  for  your  miserable 
state.  The  perfect  woman  would  certainly  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  you  if  you  found  her."  % 

"On  the  contrary,"  he  declared,  confidently,  "I  am 
convinced  that  she  would  find  me  attractive." 

The  Duchess  shook  her  head. 

"Your  theory,"  she  declared,  "is  antiquated.  Like 
and  unlike  do  not  attract.  We  seek  in  others  the 
qualities  which  we  strive  most  zealously  to  develop 
in  ourselves.  I  know  a  case  in  point." 


THE  DUCHESS'S  "AT  HOME"  55 

"Good!"  Sir  Leslie  remarked.  "I  like  examples. 
The  logic  of  them  appeals  to  me." 

The  Duchess  half  closed  her  eyes.  For  a  moment 
she  was  silent.  She  seemed  to  be  listening  to  some- 
thing a  long  way  off.  Through  the  open  windows  of 
her  softly  shaded  drawing-rooms,  odourous  with  flowers, 
came  the  rippling  of  water  falling  from  a  fountain  in 
the  conservatory,  the  lazy  hum  of  a  mowing  machine 
on  the  lawn,  the  distant  tinkling  of  a  hansom  bell  in 
the  Square.  But  these  were  not  the  sounds  which  for 
a  moment  had  changed  her  face. 

"I  myself,"  she  murmured,  "am  an  example!" 

A  woman  who  had  risen  to  go  sat  down  again. 

"Do  go  on,  Duchess!"  she  exclaimed.  "Anything 
in  the  nature  of  a  personal  confession  is  so  fascinating, 
and  you  know  you  are  such  an  enigma  to  all  of  us." 

"Am  I?"  she  answered,  smiling.  "Then  I  am  likely 
to  remain  so." 

"A  perfectly  obvious  person  like  myself,"  the  woman 
remarked,  "is  always  fascinated  by  the  unusual.  But 
if  you  are  really  not  going  to  give  yourself  away, 
Duchess,  I  am  afraid  I  must  move  on.  One  hates  to 
leave  your  beautifully  cool  rooms.  Shall  I  see  you 
to-night,  I  wonder,  at  Esholt  House?" 

"Perhaps!" 

There  were  still  many  people  in  the  room.  Some 
fresh  arrivals  occupied  his  hostess's  attention,  and 
Borrowdean,  with  a  resigned  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 
prepared  to  depart.  He  had  come,  hoping  for  an 
opportunity  to  be  alone  for  a  few  minutes  with  the 
Duchess,  and  himself  a  skilful  tactician  in  such  small 
matters,  he  could  not  but  admire  the  way  she  had 
kept  him  at  arm's  length.  And  then  the  opportunity 


56  A  LOST  LEADER 

for  a  master  stroke  came.  A  servant  sought  him  out 
with  a  card.  A  man  of  method,  he  seldom  left  his 
rooms  without  instructions  as  to  where  he  was  to  be 
found. 

"The  gentleman  begged  you  to  excuse  his  coming 
here,  sir,"  the  man  whispered,  confidentially,  "but 
he  is  returning  to  the  country  this  evening,  and  was 
anxious  to  see  you.  He  is  quite  ready  to  wait  your 
convenience." 

Borrowdean  held  the  card  in  his  hand,  scrutinizing 
it  with  impassive  face.  Was  this  a  piece  of  unparal- 
leled good  fortune,  or  simply  a  trick  of  the  fates  to 
tempt  him  on  to  catastrophe?  With  that  wonderful 
swiftness  of  thought  which  was  part  of  his  mental 
equipment  he  balanced  the  chances — and  took  his 
risk. 

"I  should  be  glad,"  he  said,  looking  the  servant  in 
the  face,  "if  you  would  show  the  gentleman  up  here 
as  an  ordinary  visitor.  I  should  like  to  find  you  down 
stairs  when  I  come  out.  You  understand?" 

"Perfectly,  sir,"  the  man  answered,  and  withdrew. 

Mannering  had  no  idea  whose  house  he  was  in. 
The  address  Borrowdean's  servant  had  given  him  had 
been  simply  81,  Grosvenor  Square.  Nevertheless,  he 
was  conscious  of  a  little  annoyance  as  he  followed  the 
servant  up  the  broad  stairs.  He  would  much  have 
preferred  waiting  until  Borrowdean  had  concluded 
his  call.  He  remembered  his  grey  travelling  clothes, 
and  all  his  natural  distaste  for  social  amenities  returned 
with  unabated  force  as  he  neared  the  reception-rooms 
and  heard  the  softly  modulated  rise  and  fall  of  feminine 
voices,  the  swishing  of  silks  and  muslin,  the  faint  per- 
fume of  flowers  and  scents  which  seemed  to  fill  the 


THE  DUCHESS'S  "AT  HOME"  57 

air.  At  the  last  moment  he  would  have  withdrawn, 
but  his  guide  seemed  deaf.  His  words  passed  unheeded. 
His  name,  very  softly  but  very  distinctly,  had  been 
announced.  He  had  no  option  but  to  pass  into  the 
room  and  play  the  cards  which  fate  and  his  friend 
had  dealt  him. 

Borrowdean  rose  to  greet  his  friend.  Mannering, 
not  knowing  who  his  hostess  might  be,  and  feeling 
absolutely  no  curiosity  concerning  her,  confined  his 
attention  wholly  to  the  man  whom  he  had  come  to 
seek. 

"I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  you  here,  Borrowdean/' 
he  said,  quickly,  "but  if  your  call  is  over,  could  you 
come  away  for  a  few  minutes?  I  have  a  matter  to 
discuss  with  you." 

Borrowdean  smiled  slightly,  and  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  other's  shoulder. 

"By  all  means,  Mannering,"  he  answered.  "But 
since  you  have  discovered  our  little  secret,  don't  you 
think  that  you  had  better  speak  to  our  hostess?" 

Mannering  was  puzzled,  but  his  eyes  followed  Bor- 
rowdean's  slight  gesture.  Berenice,  who  at  the  sound 
of  his  voice  had  suddenly  abandoned  her  conversation 
and  risen  to  her  feet,  was  within  a  few  feet  of  him. 
A  sudden  light  swept  into  Mannering's  face. 

"You!"  he  exclaimed  softly. 

Her  hands  went  out  towards  him.  Borrowdean, 
with  an  almost  imperceptible  movement,  checked  his 
advance. 

"So  you  see  we  are  found  out,  after  all,  Duchess," 
he  said,  turning  to  her.  "  You  have  known  Mrs.  Hand- 
sell,  Mannering,  let  me  present  you  now  to  her  other 
self.  Duchess,  you  see  that  our  recluse  has  come  to 


58  A  LOST  LEADER 

his  senses  at  last.  I  must  really  introduce  you  form- 
ally: Mr.  Mannering — the  Duchess  of  Lenchester." 

Berenice,  arrested  hi  her  forward  movement,  watched 
Mannering's  face  eagerly.  So  carefully  modulated  had 
been  Borrowdean's  voice  that  no  word  of  his  had 
reached  beyond  their  own  immediate  circle.  It  was  as 
though  a  silent  tableau  were  being  played  out  between 
the  three,  and  Mannering,  to  whom  repression  had 
become  a  habit,  gave  little  indication  of  anything  he 
might  have  felt.  Borrowdean's  fixed  smile  betokened 
nothing  but  an  ordinary  interest  in  the  introduction 
of  two  friends,  and  the  Duchess's  back  was  turned 
towards  her  friends.  They  both  waited  for  Manner- 
ing to  speak. 

"This,"  he  said,  slowly,  "is  a  surprise!  I  had  no 
idea  when  I  called  to  see  Borrowdean  here,  of  the 
pleasure  which  was  hi  store  for  me." 

Borrowdean  dropped  his  eyeglass. 

"Are  you  serious,  my  dear  Mannering?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  came  here " 

"Only  to  see  you,"  Mannering  interrupted.  "That 
you  should  know  perfectly  well.  I  am  sorry  to  hurry 
you  out,  but  the  few  minutes'  conversation  which  I 
desired  with  you  is  of  some  importance,  and  my 
tram  leaves  in  an  hour.  I  hope  that  you  will  par- 
don me,"  he  added,  looking  steadily  at  Berenice,  "if 
I  hurry  away  one  of  your  guests." 

She  laughed  quite  in  her  natural  manner. 

"I  will  forgive  anything,"  she  said,  "except  that 
you  should  hurry  away  yourself  so  unceremoniously. 
Come  and  sit  down  near  me.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  Blakeley." 

She  swept  her  gown  on  one  side,  disclosing  a  vacant 


THE  DUCHESS'S  "AT  HOME"  59 

place  on  the  settee  where  she  had  been  sitting.  For 
a  second  her  eyes  said  more  to  him  than  her  courteous 
but  half-careless  words  of  invitation.  Mannering  made 
no  movement  forward. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "but  it  is  impossible  for  me 
to  stay!" 

She  seemed  to  dismiss  him  and  the  whole  subject 
with  a  careless  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  which  was 
all  the  farewell  she  vouchsafed  to  either  of  them.  A 
woman  who  had  just  entered  seemed  to  aboorb  her 
whole  attention.  The  two  men  passed  out. 

Mannering  spoke  no  word  until  they  stood  upon 
the  pavement.  Then  he  turned  almost  savagely  upon 
his  companion. 

"This  is  a  trick  of  yours,  I  suppose!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Damn  you  and  your  meddling,  Borrowdean.  Why 
can't  you  leave  me  and  my  affairs  alone?  No,  I  am 
not  going  your  way.  Let  us  separate  here!" 

Borrowdean  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  unreasonable,  Mannering,"  he  said.  "I 
have  done  only  what  I  believe  you  were  on  your  way 
to  ask  me  to  do.  I  have  brought  you  and  Berenice 
together  again.  It  was  for  both  your  sakes.  If  there 
has  been  any  misunderstanding  between  you,  it  would 
be  better  cleared  up." 

Mannering  gripped  his  arm. 

"Let  us  go  to  your  rooms,  Borrowdean,"  he  said. 
"It  is  tune  we  understood  one  another." 

"Willingly?"   Borrowdean  said.    "But  your  train?" 

"Let  my  train  go,"  Mannering  answered.  "There 
are  some  things  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

Borrowdean  called  a  hansom.  The  two  men  drove 
off  together. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   MANNERING   MYSTERY 

BORROWDEAN  was  curter  than  usual,  even  abrupt. 
The  calm  geniality  of  his  manner  had  departed. 
He  spoke  in  short,  terse  sentences,  and  he  had  the 
air  of  a  man  struggling  to  subdue  a  fit  of  perfectly 
reasonable  and  justifiable  anger.  It  was  a  carefully 
cultivated  pose.  He  even  refrained  from  his  customary 
cigarette. 

"Look  here,  Mannering,"  he  said,  "there  are  times 
when  a  few  plain  words  are  worth  an  hour's  conver- 
sation. Will  you  have  them  from  me?" 

"Yes!" 

"This  thing  was  started  six  months  ago,  soon  after 
those  two  bye-elections  in  Yorkshire.  Even  the  most 
despondent  of  us  then  saw  that  the  Government  could 
scarcely  last  its  time.  We  had  a  meeting  and  we 
attempted  to  form  on  paper  a  trial  cabinet.  You 
know  our  weakness.  We  have  to  try  to  form  a  National 
party  out  of  a  number  of  men  who,  although  they  call 
themselves  broadly  Liberals,  are  as  far  apart  as  the 
very  poles  of  thought.  It  was  as  much  as  they  could 
do  to  sit  in  the  same  room  together.  From  the  open- 
ing of  the  meeting  until  its  close,  there  was  but  one 
subject  upon  which  every  one  was  unanimous.  That 
was  the  absolute  necessity  of  getting  you  to  come 
back  to  our  aid." 

"You  flatter  me/'  Mannering  said,  with  fine  irony. 


THE    MANNERING    MYSTERY  61 

"  You  yourself,"  Borrowdean  continued,  without 
heeding  the  interruption,  "  encouraged  us.  From  the 
first  pronouncement  of  this  wonderful  new  policy  you 
sprang  into  the  arena.  We  were  none  of  us  ready. 
You  were !  It  is  true  that  your  weapon  was  the  pen, 
but  you  reached  a  great  public.  The  country  to-day 
considers  you  the  champion  of  Free  Trade." 

"Pass  on,"  Mannering  interrupted,  brusquely.  "All 
this  is  wasted  time!" 

"A  smaller  meeting,"  Borrowdean  continued,  "was 
held  with  a  view  of  discussing  the  means  whereby 
you  could  be  persuaded  to  rejoin  us.  At  that  meet- 
ing the  Duchess  of  Lenchester  was  present." 

Mannering,  who  had  been  pacing  the  room,  stopped 
short.  He  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair,  and  turning 
round  faced  Borrowdean. 

"Well?" 

"You  know  what  place  the  Duchess  has  held  in  the 
councils  of  our  party  since  the  Duke's  death,"  Borrow- 
dean continued.  "She  has  the  political  instinct.  If 
she  were  a  man  she  would  be  a  leader.  All  the  great 
ladies  are  on  the  other  side,  but  the  Duchess  is  more 
than  equal  to  them  all.  She  entertains  magnificently, 
and  with  tact.  She  never  makes  a  mistake.  She  is 
part  and  parcel  of  the  Liberal  Party.  It  was  she  who 
volunteered  to  make  the  first  effort  to  bring  you  back." 

Mannering  turned  his  head.  Apparently  he  was 
looking  out  of  the  window. 

"Her  methods,"  Borrowdean  continued,  "did  not 
commend  themselves  to  us,  but  beggars  must  not  be 
choosers.  Besides,  the  Duchess  was  in  love  with  her 
own  scheme.  Such  objections  as  we  made  were  at 
once  overruled." 


62  A  LOST  LEADER 

He  paused,  but  Mannering  said  nothing.  He  was 
still  looking  out  of  the  window,  though  his  eyes  saw 
nothing  of  the  street  below,  or  the  great  club  buildings 
opposite.  A  scent  of  roses,  lost  now  and  then  hi  the 
salter  fragrance  of  the  night  breeze  sweeping  over  the 
marshes,  the  magic  of  a  wonderful,  white-clad  presence, 
the  low  words,  the  sense  of  a  world  apart,  a  world  of 
speechless  beauty.  .  .  .What  empty  dreams!  A  palace 
built  in  a  poet's  fancy  upon  a  quicksand. 

"The  Duchess,"  Borrowdean  continued,  "undertook 
to  discover  from  you  what  prospects  there  were,  if 
any,  of  your  return  to  political  hfe.  She  took  none 
of  us  into  her  confidence.  We  none  of  us  knew  what 
means  she  meant  to  employ.  She  disappeared.  She 
communicated  with  none  of  us.  We  none  of  us  had 
the  least  idea  what  had  become  of  her.  Time  went 
on,  and  we  began  to  get  a  little  uneasy.  We  had  a 
meeting  and  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  come 
down  and  see  you.  I  came,  I  saw  you,  I  saw  the 
Duchess!  The  situation  very  soon  became  clear  to 
me.  Instead  of  the  Duchess  converting  you,  you  had 
very  nearly  converted  the  Duchess." 

"I  can  assure  you "   Mannering  began. 

"Let  me  finish,"  Borrowdean  pleaded.  "I  realized 
the  situation  at  a  glance.  Your  attitude  I  was  not 
so  much  surprised  at,  but  the  attitude  of  the  Duchess, 
I  must  confess,  amazed  me.  I  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  had  found  my  way  into  a  forgotten  corner  of  the 
world,  where  the  lotos  flowers  still  blossomed,  and  the 
sooner  I  was  out  of  it  the  better.  Now  I  think  that 
brings  us,  Mannering,  up  to  the  present  time." 

Mannering  turned  from  the  window,  out  of  which 
he  had  been  steadfastly  gazing.  There  was  a  strained 


THE  MANNERING  MYSTERY  63 

look  under  his  eyes,  and  little  trace  of  the  tan  upon 
his  cheeks.  He  had  the  air  of  a  jaded  and  a  weary 
man. 

"That  is  all,  then,"  he  remarked.  "I  can  still  catch 
my  train." 

Borrowdean  held  out  his  hand. 

"No,"  he  said.  "It  is  not  all.  This  explanation 
I  have  made  for  your  sake,  Mannering,  and  it  has 
been  a  truthful  and  full  one.  Now  it  is  my  turn.  I 
have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you  on  my  own  account." 

Mannering  paused.  There  was  a  note  of  some- 
thing unusual  in  Borrowdean's  voice,  a  portent  of 
things  behind.  Mannering  involuntarily  straightened 
himself.  Something  was  awakened  in  him  which 
had  lain  dormant  for  many  years — dormant  since 
those  old  days  of  battle,  of  swift  attack,  of  am- 
bushed defence  and  the  clamour  of  brilliant  tongues. 
Some  of  the  old  light  flashed  in  his  eyes. 

"Say  it  then— quickly!" 

"We  speak  of  great  things,"  Borrowdean  continued, 
"and  the  catching  of  a  train  is  a  trifle.  My  wardrobe 
and  house  are  at  your  service.  Don't  hurry  me!" 

Mannering  smiled. 

"Go  on!"  he  said. 

"The  men  who  count  in  this  world,"  Borrowdean  de- 
clared, calmly  lighting  a  cigarette,  "are  either  thinkers 
of  great  thoughts  or  doers  of  great  deeds.  To  the 
former  belong  the  poets  and  the  sentimentalists;  to 
the  latter  the  statesmen  and  the  soldiers." 

"What  have  I  done,"  Mannering  murmured,  "that 
I  should  be  sent  back  to  kindergarten?  Platitudes 
such  as  this  bore  me.  Let  me  catch  my  train." 

"In  a  moment.    To  all  my  arguments  and  appeals, 


64  A  LOST  LEADER 

to  all  my  entreaties  to  you  to  realize  yourself,  to  do 
your  duty  to  us,  to  history  and  to  posterity,  you  have 
replied  in  one  manner  only.  You  have  spoken  from 
the  mushroom  pedestal  of  the  sentimentalist.  Not  a 
single  word  that  has  fallen  from  your  lips  has  rung 
true.  You  have  spoken  as  though  your  eyes  were 
blind  all  the  time  to  the  letters  of  fire  which  truth  has 
spelled  out  before  you.  Any  further  argument  with  you 
is  useless,  because  you  are  not  honest.  You  conceal 
your  true  position,  and  you  adopt  a  false  defence. 
Therefore,  I  relinquish  my  task.  You  can  go  and  grow 
your  roses,  and  think  your  poetry,  and  call  it  life 
if  you  will.  But  before  you  go  I  should  like  you 
to  know  that  I,  at  least,  am  not  deceived.  I  do  not 
believe  in  you,  Mannering.  I  ask  you  a  question, 
and  I  challenge  you  to  answer  it.  What  is  your  true 
reason  for  making  a  scrap-heap  of  your  career?" 

"Are  you  my  friend,"  Mannering  asked,  quietly, 
"that  you  wish  to  pry  behind  the  curtain  of  my 
life?  If  I  have  other  reasons  they  concern  myself 
alone." 

Borrowdean  shook  his  head.  He  had  scored,  but 
he  took  care  to  show  no  sign  of  triumph. 

"The  issue  is  too  great,"  he  said,  "to  be  tried  by 
the  ordinary  rules  which  govern  social  life.  Will  you 
presume  that  I  am  your  friend,  and  let  us  consider 
the  whole  matter  afresh  together?" 

"I  will  not,"  Mannering  answered.  "But  I  will  do 
this.  I  will  answer  your  question.  There  is  another 
reason  which  makes  my  reappearance  in  public  life  im- 
possible. Not  even  your  subtlety,  Borrowdean,  could 
remove  it.  I  do  not  even  wish  it  removed.  I  mean  to 
live  my  own  life,  and  not  to  be  pitchforked  back  into 


THE  MANNERING  MYSTERY  65 

politics  to  suit  the  convenience  of  a  few  adventurous 
office-seekers,  and  the  Duchess  of  Lenchester!" 

"Mannering!" 

But  Mannering  had  gone. 

Borrowdean  felt  that  this  was  a  trying  day.  After 
a  battle  with  Mannering  he  was  face  to  face  with  an 
angry  woman,  to  whose  presence  an  imperious  little 
note  had  just  summoned  him.  Berenice  was  dressed 
for  a  royal  dinner  party,  and  she  had  only  a  few 
minutes  to  spare.  Nevertheless  she  contrived  to  make 
them  very  unpleasant  ones  for  Borrowdean. 

"The  affair  was  entirely  an  accident,"  he  pleaded. 

"It  was  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  answered,  bluntly. 
"I  know  you  too  well  for  that.  Your  bringing  him 
here  without  warning  was  an  unwarrantable  inter- 
ference with  my  affairs." 

Borrowdean  could  hold  his  own  with  men,  but 
Berenice  in  her  own  room,  a  wonderful  little  paradise 
of  soft  colourings  and  luxury  so  perfectly  chosen  that 
it  was  rather  felt  than  seen;  Berenice,  in  her  marvellous 
gown,  with  the  necklace  upon  her  bosom  and  the 
tiara  flashing  in  her  dark  hair,  was  an  overwhelming 
opponent.  Borrowdean  was  helpless.  He  could  not 
understand  the  attack  itself.  He  failed  altogether  to 
appreciate  its  tenour. 

"Forgive  me,"  he  protested,  "but  I  did  not  know 
that  you  had  any  plans.  All  that  you  told  us  on  your 
return  from  Blakely  was  that  you  had  failed.  So 
far  as  you  were  concerned  the  matter  seemed  to  me 
to  be  over,  and  with  it,  I  imagined,  your  interest  in 
Mannering.  I  brought  him  here " 

"Well?" 


66  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Because  I  wished  him  to  know  who  you  were.  I 
wished  him  to  understand  the  improbability  of  your 
ever  again  returning  to  Blakely." 

"You  are  telling  the  truth  now,  at  any  rate,"  she 
remarked,  curtly,  "or  what  sounds  like  the  truth. 
Why  did  you  trouble  in  the  matter  at  all?  Where 
I  have  failed  you  are  not  likely  to  succeed." 

Borrowdean  smiled  for  the  first  time. 

"I  have  still  some  hopes  of  doing  so,"  he  admitted. 

The  Duchess  glanced  at  the  little  Louis  Seize  time- 
piece, and  hesitated. 

"You  had  better  abandon  them,"  she  said.  "Law- 
rence Mannering  may  be  wrong,  or  he  may  be  right, 
but  he  believes  in  his  choice.  He  has  no  ambition. 
You  have  no  motive  left  to  work  upon." 

Borrowdean  shook  his  head. 

"You  are  wrong,  Duchess,"  he  remarked,  simply. 
"I  never  believed  in  Mannering's  sentimentality. 
To-day,  with  his  own  lips,  he  has  confessed  to  me 
that  another,  an  unbroached  reason,  stands  behind 
his  refusal!" 

"And  he  never  told  me,"  the  Duchess  murmured, 
involuntarily. 

"Duchess,"  Borrowdean  answered,  with  a  faint, 
cynical  parting  of  the  lips,  "there  are  matters  which 
a  man  does  not  mention  to  the  woman  in  whose  high 
opinion  he  aims  at  holding  an  exalted  place." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  Duchess's 
maid  entered,  carrying  a  long  cloak  of  glimmering 
lace  and  satin. 

The  Duchess  nodded. 

"I  come  at  once,  Hortense,"  she  said,  in  French. 
"Sir  Leslie,"  she  added,  turning  towards  him,  "you 


THE  MANNERING  MYSTERY  67 

are  making  a  great  mistake,  and  I  advise  you  to  be 
careful.  You  are  one  of  those  who  think  ill  of  all 
men.  Such  men  as  Lawrence  Mannering  belong  to  a 
race  of  human  beings  of  whom  you  know  nothing. 
I  listened  to  you  once,  and  I  was  a  fool.  You  could 
as  soon  teach  me  to  believe  that  you  were  a  saint,  as 
that  Mannering  had  anything  in  his  past  or  present 
life  of  which  he  was  ashamed.  Now,  Hortense." 

Borrowdean  walked  off,   still  smiling.    How  simple 
half  the  world  was. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   PUMPING   OF  MRS.   PHILLIMORE 

HESTER  sprang  to  her  feet  eagerly  as  she  heard 
the  front  door  close,  and  standing  behind  the 
curtain  she  watched  the  man,  who  was  already  upon 
the  pavement  looking  up  and  down  the  street  for 
a  hansom.  His  erect,  distinguished  figure  was  per- 
fectly familiar  to  her.  It  was  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean 
again. 

She  resumed  her  seat  in  front  of  the  typewriter,  and 
touched  the  keys  idly.  In  a  few  moments  what  she 
had  been  expecting  happened.  Her  mother  entered 
the  room. 

Of  her  advent  there  were  the  usual  notifications. 
An  immense  rustling  of  silken  skirts,  and  an  over- 
whelming odour  of  the  latest  Bond  Street  perfume. 
She  flung  herself  into  a  chair,  and  regarded  her  daugh- 
ter with  a  complacent  smile. 

"That  delightful  man  has  been  to  see  me  again," 
she  exclaimed.  "I  could  scarcely  believe  it  when 
Mary  brought  me  his  card.  By  the  bye,  where  is 
Mary?  I  want  her  to  try  to  take  that  stain  out  of  my 
pink  silk  skirt.  I  shall  have  to  wear  it  to-night." 

"I  will  ring  for  her  directly,"  the  girl  answered. 
"So  that  was  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean,  mother!  Why 
did  he  come  to  see  you  again  so  soon?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  idea,"  Mrs.  Phillimore  an- 
nounced, "but  I  thought  it  was  very  sweet  of  him. 


PUMPING  OF  MRS.  PHILLIMORE  69 

It  seems  all  the  more  remarkable  when  one  considers 
the  sort  of  man  he  is.  He's  very  ambitious,  you  know, 
and  devoted  to  politics." 

"Where  did  you  meet  him  first?"     Hester  asked. 

"It  was  at  the  Metropole  at  Bexhill,"  Mrs.  Philli- 
more  answered.  "We  motored  down  there  one  day, 
and  Lena  Roberts  told  me  that  she  heard  him  in- 
quiring who  I  was  directly  we  came  into  the  room. 
He  joined  our  party  at  luncheon.  Billy  knew  him 
slightly,  so  I  made  him  go  over  and  ask  him." 

Hester  nodded,  and  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  some 
trifling  defect  of  one  of  the  keys  of  her  typewriter. 

"Does  he  still  ask  you  many  questions  about  Mr. 
Mannering,  mother?"  she  asked,  quietly. 

"About  Mr.  Mannering!"  Mrs.  Phillimore  repeated, 
with  raised  eyebrows.  "Why,  he  scarcely  ever  men- 
tions his  name." 

She  took  up  a  small  mirror  from  the  table  by  her 
side,  and  critically  touched  her  hair. 

"About  Mr.  Mannering,  indeed,"  she  repeated. 
"Why  do  you  ask  me  such  a  question?" 

The  girl  hesitated. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know,  mother?"  she  asked. 

"Of  course!" 

"When  Mr.  Mannering  was  here  last,"  Hester  said, 
"he  asked  me  whether  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  was  a 
friend  of  yours.  I  fancy  that  they  are  political  ac- 
quaintances, but  I  don't  think  that  they  are  on  very 
good  terms." 

Mrs.  Phillimore  laid  down   the  mirror  and   yawned. 

"Well,  there's  nothing  very  strange  about  that," 
she  declared.  "Lawrence  isn't  the  sort  to  get  on  with 
many  people,  especially  since  he  went  and  buried  him- 


70  A  LOST  LEADER 

self  in  the  country.  How  pale  you  are  looking,  child. 
Why  don't  you  go  and  take  a  walk,  instead  of  ham- 
mering away  at  that  old  typewriter?  Any  one  would 
think  that  you  had  to  do  it  for  a  living!" 

"I  prefer  to  earn  my  own  living,"  the  girl  answered, 
"and  I  am  not  in  the  least  tired.  Tell  me,  are  you 
going  to  see  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  again,  mother?" 

The  woman  on  the  couch  smoothed  her  hair  once 
more,  with  a  smile  of  gratification. 

"Sir  Leslie  has  asked  me  to  join  a  small  party  of 
friends  for  dinner  at  the  Carlton  this  evening,"  she 
announced.  "Why  on  earth  are  you  looking  at  me 
like  that,  child?  You're  always  grumbling  that  my 
friends  are  a  fast  lot,  and  don't  suit  you.  You  can't 
say  anything  against  Sir  Leslie." 

The  girl  had  risen  to  her  feet.  The  trouble  in  her 
face  was  manifest. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I  wish  that  you  were 
not  going.  I  wish  that  you  would  have  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean." 

"Good  Heavens! — and  why  not?"  the  woman  ex- 
claimed, suddenly  sitting  up. 

"I  believe  that  he  only  asked  you  because  he  has 
an  idea  that  you  can  tell  him — something  he  wants 
to  know  about  Mr.  Mannering,"  the  girl  answered, 
steadily.  "I  don't  think  that  you  ought  to  go!" 

"Rubbish!"  her  mother  answered,  crossly.  "I  don't 
believe  that  he  has  such  an  idea  in  his  head.  As 
though  he  couldn't  ask  me  for  the  sake  of  my  company. 
And  if  he  does  ask  me  questions,  I'm  not  obliged  to 
answer  them,  am  I?  Do  you  think  that  I'm  to  be 
turned  inside  out  like  a  schoolgirl?" 

"Sir  Leslie  is  very  clever,  and  he  is  very  unscrupu- 


PUMPING  OF  MRS.  PHILLIMORE  71 

lous,"  the  girl  answered.  "I  wish  you  weren't  going! 
I  believe  that  he  wants  to  find  out  things." 

Mrs.  Phillimore  frowned  uneasily. 

"I'm  not  a  fool!"  she  said.  "He's  welcome  to  all 
he  can  get  to  know  through  me.  I  don't  know  what 
you  want  to  try  to  make  me  uncomfortable  for,  Hester, 
I'm  sure.  Sir  Leslie  has  never  betrayed  the  least 
curiosity  about  Mr.  Mannering,  and  I  don't  believe 
that  he's  any  such  idea  in  his  head.  Upon  my  word 
I  don't  see  why  you  should  think  it  impossible  that 
Sir  Leslie  should  come  here  just  for  the  sake  of  im- 
proving an  acquaintance  which  he  found  pleasant. 
That's  what  he  gave  me  to  understand,  and  he  put 
it  very  nicely  too!" 

"I  do  not  think  that  Sir  Leslie  is  that  sort  of  man, 
mother." 

"And  I  don't  see  how  you  know  anything  about 
it,"  was  the  sharp  response.  "Ring  the  bell,  please. 
I  want  to  speak  to  Mary  about  my  skirt." 

"You  mean  to  dine  with  him  then,  mother?"  she 
asked,  crossing  the  room  towards  the  bell. 

"Of  course!  I've  accepted.  To-night  and  as  often 
as  he  chooses  to  ask  me.  Now  don't  upset  me,  please. 
I  want  to  look  my  best  to-night,  and  if  I  get  angry 
my  hair  goes  all  out  of  curl." 

The  girl  went  back  to  her  typewriter.  She  unfolded 
a  sheet  of  copy,  and  placed  it  on  the  stand  before  her. 

"If  you  have  made  up  your  mind,  mother,  I  suppose 
you  will  go,"  she  said.  "Still — I  wish  you  wouldn't." 

Mrs.  Phillimore  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"If  I  did  what  you  wished  all  the  time,"  she  re- 
marked, pettishly,  "I  might  as  well  drown  myself  at 
once.  Can't  you  understand,  Hester?"  she  added, 


72  A  LOST  LEADER 

with  a  sudden  change  of  manner,  "that  I  must  do 
something  to  help  me  to  forget?  You  don't  want  to 
see  me  go  mad,  do  you?" 

The  girl  turned  half  round  in  her  chair.  She  was 
fronting  a  mirror.  She  caught  a  momentary  impres- 
sion of  herself — pallid,  hollow-eyed,  weary.  She  sighed. 

"There  are  other  ways  of  forgetting,"  she  murmured. 
"There  is  work." 

Her  mother  laughed  scornfully. 

"You  have  chosen  your  way,"  she  said,  "  let  me 
choose  mine.  Turn  round,  Hester." 

The  girl  obeyed  her  languidly.  Her  mother  eyed 
her  with  an  attention  she  seldom  vouchsafed  to  any- 
thing. Her  plain  black  frock  was  ill-fitting  and  worn. 
She  wore  no  ribbon  or  jewellery  or  adornment  of  any 
sort.  Negatively  her  face  was  not  ill-pleasing,  but 
her  figure  was  angular,  and  her  complexion  almost 
anaBmic.  The  woman  on  the  couch  represented  other 
things.  She  was  tastefully,  though  somewhat  elabo- 
rately dressed.  She  wore  chains  and  trinkets  about 
her  neck,  rings  upon  her  fingers,  and  in  her  face  had 
begun  in  earnest  the  tragic  struggle  between  an  actual 
forty  and  presumptive  twenty.  She  laughed  again,  a 
little  hardly. 

"And  you  are  my  daughter,"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
are  one  of  the  freaks  of  heredity.  I'm  perfectly  certain 
you  don't  belong  to  me,  and  as  for  him — 

"Stop!"  the  girl  cried. 

The  woman  nodded. 

"  Quite  right,"  she  said.  "I  didn't  mean  to  mention 
him.  I  won't  again.  But  we  are  different,  aren't 
we?  I  wonder  why  you  stay  with  me.  I  wonder  you 
don't  go  and  make  a  home  for  yourself  somewhere. 


PUMPING  OF  MRS.  PHILLIMORE          73 

I  know  that  you  hate  all  the  things  I  do,  and  care  for, 
and  all  my  friends.  Why  don't  you  go  away?  It 
would  be  more  comfortable  for  both  of  us!" 

"I  have  no  wish  to  go  away,"  the  girl  said,  softly, 
"and  I  don't  think  that  we  interfere  with  one  another 
very  much,  do  we?  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever 
made  a  remark  about  any — of  your  friends.  To-night 
I  cannot  help  it.  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  is  Mr.  Man- 
nering's  enemy.  I  am  sure  of  it!  That  is  why  I  do 
not  like  the  idea  of  your  going  out  with  him.  It 
doesn't  seem  to  be  right — and  I  am  afraid." 

"Afraid!    You  little  idiot!" 

"Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  is  a  very  clever  man,"  the 
girl  said.  "He  is  a  very  clever  man,  and  he  has  been 
a  lawyer.  That  sort  of  person  knows  how  to  ask 
questions — to — find  out  things." 

"Rubbish!"  the  woman  remarked,  sitting  up  on  the 
couch.  "Why  do  you  try  to  make  me  so  uncom- 
fortable, Hester?  Sir  Leslie  may  be  very  clever,  but 
I  am  not  exactly  a  fool  myself." 

She  spoke  confidently,  but  under  the  delicate  coating 
of  rouge  her  cheeks  had  whitened. 

"Besides,"  she  continued,  "Sir  Leslie  has  never 
even  mentioned  Mr.  Mannering's  name  in  anything 
except  the  most  casual  way.  You  don't  understand 
everything,  Hester.  Of  course  Lena  and  Billy  Aswell 
and  Rothe  and  all  of  them  are  all  right,  but  they  are 
just  a  little — well,  you  would  call  it  fast,  and  it  does 
one  good  to  be  seen  with  a  different  set  sometimes. 
Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  and  his  friends  are  altogether 
different,  of  course." 

The  girl  bent  over  her  work. 

"No  doubt,  mother,"  she  answered.     "There's  Mary 


74  A  LOST  LEADER 

stamping  on  the  floor.    I  expect  she  has  your  bath 
ready." 

An  hour  or  so  later  Mrs.  Phillimore  departed  in  a 
hired  brougham.  Her  hair  had  been  carefully  arranged 
by  a  local  expert  who  had  an  establishment  in  the  next 
street,  her  pink  silk  gown  had  come  through  the  ordeal 
of  cleansing  with  remarkable  success,  and  the  heels  on 
her  new  evening  shoes  resembled  more  than  anything 
else,  miniature  stilts.  Her  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles, 
and  she  possessed  the  good  conscience  and  light  heart 
of  a  woman  who  feels  that  she  has  made  a  successful 
toilette.  All  the  vague  misgivings  of  a  short  while 
ago  had  vanished.  She  gave  her  hair  a  final  touch 
in  the  side  window  of  the  carriage  as  she  drove  off, 
and  quite  forgot  to  wave  her  hand  to  Hester,  who  was 
standing  at  the  window  to  see  her  go.  If  any  mis- 
givings remained  at  all  between  the  two,  they  were 
not  with  her.  She  settled  herself  back  amongst  the 
cushions  with  a  little  sigh  of  content.  Sir  Leslie  was 
a  most  charming  person,  and  evidently  not  at  all  in- 
sensible to  her  charms.  She  was  sure  that  she  was 
going  to  have  a  delightful  evening. 

Borrowdean,  if  he  possessed  no  conscience,  was 
not  altogether  free  from  some  kindred  eccentricity. 
He  was  reminded  sharply  enough  of  the  fact  about  one 
o'clock  the  next  morning,  when  the  door  of  the  little 
house  on  Merton  Street  was  suddenly  opened  before 
he  could  touch  the  bell.  Framed  in  a  little  slanting 
gleam  of  light,  Hester,  still  wearing  her  plain  black 
gown,  stood  and  looked  at  him.  His  careless  words 
of  explanation  died  away  upon  his  lips.  The  fire  which 
flashed  from  her  hollow  eyes  seemed  to  wither  up  the 


PUMPING  OF  MKS.  PHILLIMORE          75 

very  sources  of  speech  within  him.  The  half  lights 
were  kind  to  her.  He  saw  nothing  of  the  hollow  cheeks. 
The  weariness  of  her  pose  and  manner  had  passed  like 
magic  away.  She  stood  there,  erect  as  a  dart,  her 
head  thrown  back,  a  curious  mixture  of  scorn,  of  loath- 
ing, and  of  fear  in  her  expression.  She  looked  at  him 
steadily,  and  he  felt  his  cheeks  burn.  He  was  ashamed 
— ashamed  of  himself,  ashamed  of  his  errand. 

"Your  mother,"  he  said,  struggling  to  look  away  from 
her,  "is — a  little  unwell.  The  heat  of  the  room " 

She  swept  down  the  steps  and  passed  him.  Before 
he  could  reach  her  side  she  was  tugging  at  the  handle 
of  the  carriage  door. 

"Mother,"  she  cried,  through  the  window,  "undo 
the  door!" 

But  Mrs.  Phillimore  made  no  answer.  When  at 
last  the  door  was  opened  she  was  discovered  half  asleep 
in  a  corner.  Her  hah-  was  hi  some  disorder,  and  her 
cheeks  no  longer  preserved  that  even  colouring  which 
is  a  result  of  the  artistic  use  of  the  rouge-pot.  Her 
head  was  thrown  back,  and  she  was  apparently  asleep. 
Hester  stifled  a  sob.  She  took  her  mother  by  the  arm, 
and  shook  her. 

Mrs.  Phillimore  sat  up  and  smiled  a  sleepy  smile. 
She  made  a  few  incoherent  remarks.  They  helped 
her  into  the  house  and  into  an  easy-chair,  where  she 
promptly  turned  her  face  towards  the  cushions  and 
resumed  her  slumber.  Sir  Leslie  moved  towards  the 
door,  then  hesitated. 

"Miss  Phillimore,"  he  said,  "I  cannot  tell  you  how 
sorry  I  am  that  this  should  have  happened." 

She  was  on  her  knees  before  her  mother.  She  turned 
and  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  Sir  Leslie  never  quite 


76  A  LOST  LEADER 

forgot  her  gesture  as  she  motioned  him  towards  the 
door.  It  was  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable  moments 
of  his  life. 

"I  am  afraid " 

She  did  not  speak  a  word,  yet  Sir  Leslie  obeyed  what 
seemed  to  him  more  eloquent  than  words.  He  turned 
and  left  the  room  and  the  house.  Without  any  change 
in  her  tense  expression  she  waited  until  she  heard  him 
go.  Then  she  sank  upon  her  knees  on  the  hearthrug, 
and  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 


SIR    I<ESLIE   NEVER    QUITE   FORGOT   HER   GESTURE   AS   SHE   MOTIONED 
HIM  TOWARDS  THE  DOOR  " 

[Pase  76 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   MAN   WITH   A   MOTIVE 

MANNERING  sat  alone  in  the  shade  of  his  cedar 
tree.  He  had  walked  in  his  rose-garden  amongst 
a  wilderness  of  drooping  blossoms,  for  the  season  of 
roses  was  gone.  He  had  crossed  the  marshland  sea- 
wards, only  to  find  a  little  crowd  of  holiday-makers  in 
possession  of  the  golf  links  and  the  green  tufted  stretch 
of  sandy  shore.  The  day  had  been  long,  almost  irk- 
some. A  fit  of  restlessness  had  driven  him  from  his 
study.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  all  power  of  concen- 
tration. For  once  his  brain  had  failed  him.  The 
shadowy  companions  who  stood  ever  between  him  and 
solitude  remained  uninvoked.  His  cigar  had  burnt 
out  between  his  fingers.  He  threw  it  impatiently 
away.  These  were  the  days,  the  hours  he  dreaded. 

Clara  came  down  the  garden  from  the  house,  and 
seeing  him,  crossed  the  lawn  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

"Why,  my  dear  uncle,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  look 
almost  as  dull  as  I  feel!  Let  us  be  miserable  together!" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  he  answered.  "Whilst  we 
are  about  it,  can  we  invent  a  cause?" 

"Invent!"  she  repeated.  "I  do  not  think  we  need 
either  of  us  look  very  far.  Every  one  seems  to  have 
gone  away  whose  presence  made  this  place  endurable. 
Uncle,  do  you  know  when  Mrs.  Handsell  is  coming 
back?  She  promised  to  write,  and  I  have  never  heard 
a  word!" 


78  A  LOST  LEADER 

Mannering  turned  his  head.  A  little  rustling  wind 
had  stolen  in  from  seaward.  Above  their  heads  flights 
of  seagulls  were  floating  out  towards  the  creeks.  He 
watched  them  idly  until  they  dropped  down. 

"I  do  not  think  that  she  will  come  back  at  all," 
he  said,  quietly.  "I  heard  to-day  that  the  place  was 
to  let  again." 

"And  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean?" 

"I  think  you  may  take  it  for  granted,"  Mannering 
remarked,  dryly,  "that  we  shall  see  no  more  of  him." 

The  girl  leaned  back  and  sighed. 

"Uncle,  what  is  it  that  makes  you  such  a  hermit?" 
she  asked. 

"Age,  perhaps,  and  experience,"  he  answered, 
lightly.  "There  are  not  many  people  in  the  world, 
Clara,  who  are  worth  while!" 

"Mrs.  Handsell  was  worth  while,"  she  murmured. 

Mannering  did  not  reply. 

"And  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean,"  she  continued,  "was 
more  than  just  worth  while.  I  think  that  he  was 
delightful." 

"Very  young  ladies,  and  very  old  ones,"  Manner- 
ing remarked,  grimly,  "generally  like  Borrowdean." 

"And  what  about  Mrs.  Handsell?"  she  asked,  with 
a  spice  of  malice  in  her  tone. 

"Mrs.  Handsell,"  Mannering  answered,  coolly,  "was 
a  very  charming  woman.  Since  both  these  people  have 
passed  out  of  our  lives,  Clara.  I  scar6ely  see  why  we 
need  discuss  them." 

"One  must  talk  about  something,"  she  answered. 
"At  least  I  must  talk,  and  you  must  pretend  to  listen. 
I  positively  cannot  exist  in  the.  house  by  myself  any 
longer." 


THE  MAN  WITH  A  MOTIVE  79 

"Where  is  Richard?"  Mannering  asked. 

"Gone  into  Norwich  to  dine  at  the  barracks  with 
some  stupid  men.  Not  that  I  mind  his  going,"  she 
added,  hastily.  "I  wish  he'd  stay  away  for  a  month. 
Of  course  he's  a  very  good  sort,  and  all  that,  but  he's 
deadly  monotonous.  Uncle,  really,  as  a  matter  of 
curiosity,  before  I  get  to  be  an  old  woman  I  should 
like  to  see  one  other  young  man." 

"Plenty  on  the  links  just  now!" 

"I  know  it.  I  sat  out  near  the  ninth  hole  all  this 
morning.  There  are  some  Cambridge  boys  who  looked 
quite  nice.  One  of  them  was  really  delightful  when 
I  showed  him  where  his  ball  was,  but  I  can't  consider 
that  an  introduction,  can  I?  Heavens,  who's  this?" 

Behind  the  trim  maid-servant  already  crossing  the 
lawn,  and  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  came  a  strange, 
almost  tragical,  figure.  Her  plain  black  clothes  and 
hat  were  powdered  with  dust,  there  were  deep  lines 
under  her  eyes,  she  swayed  a  little  when  she  walked, 
as  though  with  fatigue.  She  seemed  to  bring  with 
her  into  the  cool,  quiet  garden,  with  its  country  odours 
and  general  air  of  peace,  an  alien  note.  One  almost 
heard  the  deep  undercry  from  a  far-away  world  of 
suffering — the  great,  ever-moving  wheels  seemed  to 
have  caught  her  up  and  thrown  her  down  in  this  most 
incongruous  of  places.  Clara,  in  her  cool  white  dress, 
her  fresh  complexion,  her  general  air  of  health  and 
girlish  vigour,  seemed,  as  she  rose  to  her  feet,  a  creature 
of  another  sex,  almost  of  another  world.  The  two  girls 
exchanged  for  a  moment  wondering  glances.  Then 
Mannering  intervened. 

"Hester!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why — is  there  anything 
wrong?" 


80  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Nothing — very  serious,"  she  answered.  "But  I  had 
to  see  you.  I  thought  that  I  had  better  come." 

He  held  out  his  hands. 

"You  have  had  a  tiring  journey,"  he  said.  "You 
must  come  into  the  house  and  let  them  find  you  some- 
thing to  eat.  Clara,  this  is  Hester  Phillimore,  the 
daughter  of  an  old  friend  of  mine.  Will  you  see  about 
a  room  for  her,  and  lend  her  anything  she  requires?" 

"Of  course,"  Clara  answered.  "Won't  you  come  into 
the  house  with  me?"  she  added  pleasantly  to  the 
girl.  "You  must  be  horribly  tired  travelling  this  hot 
weather,  and  this  is  such  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of 
the  world!" 

Hester  lingered  for  a  moment,  glancing  nervously 
at  Mannering. 

"I  must  go  back  to-night,"  she  said.  "I  only  came 
because  I  thought  that  it  would  be  quicker  than 
writing." 

"To-night?"  he  exclaimed.  "But,  my  dear  girl, 
that  is  impossible.  There  are  no  trains,  and  you  are 
tired  out  already.  Go  into  the  house  with  my  niece, 
and  we  will  have  a  talk  afterwards." 

He  walked  across  the  lawn  with  them,  talking  pleas- 
antly to  Hester,  as  though  her  visit  were  in  no  sense 
of  the  word  unpleasant,  or  an  extraordinary  event. 
But  when  he  returned  to  his  seat  under  the  cedar  tree 
his  whole  expression  was  changed.  The  lines  about 
his  face  had  insensibly  deepened.  He  leaned  a  little 
forward,  looking  with  weary,  unseeing  eyes  into  the 
tangled  shrubbery.  Had  all  men,  he  wondered,  this 
secret  chapter  in  their  lives — the  one  sore  place  so 
impossible  to  forget,  the  cupboard  of  shadows  never 
wholly  closed,  shadows  which  at  any  moment  might 


THE  MAN  WITH  A  MOTIVE  81 

steal  out  and  encompass  his  darkening  life?  He  sat 
there  motionless,  and  his  thoughts  travelled  back- 
wards. There  were  many  things  hi  his  life  which  he 
had  forgotten,  but  never  this.  Every  word  that  had 
been  spoken,  every  detail  in  that  tragic  little  scene 
seemed  to  glide  into  his  memory  with  a  distinctness 
and  amplitude  which  time  had  never  for  one  second 
dimmed.  So  it  must  be  until  the  end.  He  forgot 
the  girl  and  her  errand.  He  forgot  the  carefully  cul- 
tivated philosophy  which  for  so  many  years  had 
helped  him  towards  forge tfulness.  So  he  sat  until 
the  sound  of  their  voices  upon  the  lawn  recalled  him 
to  the  present. 

"I  will  leave  you  to  have  your  talk  with  uncle," 
Clara  said.  "Afterwards  I  will  come  back  to  you. 
There  he  is,  sitting  under  the  cedar  tree." 

The  girl  came  swiftly  over  to  his  side.  For  a  moment 
the  compassion  which  he  had  always  felt  for  her  swept 
away  the  memory  of  his  own  sorrow.  Her  pallid, 
colourless  face  had  lost  everything  except  expression. 
If  the  weariness,  which  seemed  to  have  found  a  home 
in  her  eyes,  was  just  now  absent,  it  was  because  a 
worse  thing  was  shining  out  of  them — a  fear,  of  which 
there  were  traces  even  in  her  hurried  walk  and  tone. 
He  rose  at  once  and  held  out  his  hands. 

"Come  and  sit  down,  Hester,"  he  said,  "and  don't 
look  so  frightened." 

She  obeyed  him  at  once. 

"I  am  frightened,"  she  said,  "because  I  feel  that  I 
ought  not  to  have  come  here,  and  yet  I  thought  that 
you  ought  to  know  at  once  what  has  happened.  Sir 
Leslie  Borrowdean  has  been  coming  to  see  mother. 
Last  night  he  took  her  out  to  dinner.  She  came  home 


82  A  LOST  LEADER 

— late — she  was  not  quite  herself.  This  morning  she 
was  frightened  and  hysterical.  She  said — that  she  had 
been  talking." 

"To  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean?" 

"Yes." 

Mannering  showed  no  signs  of  dismay.  He  took 
the  girl's  thin  white  hand  hi  his,  and  held  it  almost 
affectionately. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  know  this  at  once,  dear,"  he 
said,  "and  you  did  what  was  right  and  kind  when  you 
came  to  see  me.  But  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  has  no 
reason  to  make  himself  my  enemy.  On  the  contrary, 
just  now  he  seems  particularly  anxious  to  cultivate 
my  friendship." 

"Then  why,"  the  girl  asked,  "has  he  gone  out  of 
his  way  to — to " 

Mannering  stopped  her. 

"He  had  a  motive,  of  course.  Borrowdean  is  one 
of  those  men  who  do  nothing  without  a  motive.  I 
believe  that  I  can  even  guess  what  it  is.  Don't  let 
this  thing  distress  you  too  much,  Hester.  I  do  not 
think  that  we  have  anything  to  worry  about." 

"But  he  knows!" 

"I  could  not  imagine  a  man,"  Mannering  answered, 
"better  able  to  keep  a  secret." 

The  girl  sat  silent  for  a  moment. 

"I  suppose  I  have  been  an  idiot,"  she  remarked. 

"You  have  been  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Mannering 
asserted,  firmly.  "You  have  done  just  what  is  kind, 
and  what  will  help  me  to  save  the  situation.  I 
must  confess  that  I  should  not  like  to  have  been 
taken  by  surprise.  You  have  saved  me  from  that. 
Now  let  us  put  the  whole  subject  away  for  a  time. 


THE  MAN  WITH  A  MOTIVE  83 

How  I  wish  that  you  could  stay  here  for  a  few 
clays." 

The  girl  smiled  a  little  piteously. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  left  her  even  for  so  long  as 
this,"  she  said.  "I  must  go  back  to-morrow  morning 
by  the  first  train." 

He  nodded.  He  felt  that  it  was  useless  to  combat 
her  resolution. 

"You  and  I,"  he  said,  gravely,  "have  both  our 
burdens  to  carry.  Only  it  seems  a  little  unfair  that 
Providence  should  have  made  my  back  so  much  the 
broader.  Listen,  Hester!" 

The  full  murmur  of  the  sea  growing  louder  and 
louder  as  the  salt  water  flowed  up  into  the  creeks 
betokened  the  change  of  tide.  Faint  wreaths  of  mist 
were  rising  up  from  over  the  shadowy  marshland. 
Above  them  were  the  stars.  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder. 

"Dear  child!"  he  said,  "I  think  that  you  understand 
how  it  is  that  the  burden,  after  all,  is  easier  for  me. 
A  man  may  forget  his  troubles  here,  for  all  the  while 
there  is  this  eternal  background  of  peaceful  things." 

Her  hand  stole  into  his. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured,  "I  understand.  Don't  let 
them  ever  bring  you  away." 


CHAPTER  XI 

MANNERING'S  ALTERNATIVE 

ONCE  again  Mannering  found  himself  in  the  over- 
scented,  overheated  room,  which  was  perhaps 
of  all  places  in  the  world  the  one  he  hated  the  most. 
Fresh  from  the  wind-swept  places  of  his  country  home, 
he  found  the  atmosphere  intolerable.  After  a  few 
minutes'  waiting  he  threw  open  the  windows  and 
leaned  out.  Hester  was  walking  in  the  Square  some- 
where. He  had  a  shrewd  idea  that  she  had  been 
sent  out  of  the  way.  With  a  restless  impatience  of 
her  absence  he  awaited  the  interview  which  he  dreaded. 

Her  mother's  coming  took  him  a  little  by  surprise. 
She  seemed  to  have  laid  aside  all  her  usual  customs. 
She  entered  the  room  quietly.  She  greeted  him  almost 
nervously.  She  was  dressed,  without  at  any  rate  any 
obvious  attempt  to  attract,  in  a  plain  black  gown,  and 
with  none  of  the  extravagances  in  which  she  sometimes 
delighted.  Her  usual  boisterous  confidence  of  manner 
seemed  to  have  deserted  her.  Her  face,  without  its 
skilful  touches  of  rouge,  looked  thin,  and  almost 
peaked. 

"I  am  so  glad  that  you  came,  Lawrence,"  she  said. 
"It  was  very  good  of  you." 

She  glanced  towards  the  opened  windows,  and  he 
closed  them  at  once. 

"I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  "that  you  have  not  been 
well!" 


MANNERING'S  ALTERNATIVE  85 

There  was  a  touch  of  her  old  self  in  the  hardness  of 
her  low  laugh. 

"It  is  remorse!"  she  declared.  "I  think  that  for 
once  in  my  life  I  have  permitted  myself  to  think!  It 
is  a  great  mistake.  One  loses  confidence  when  one 
realizes  what  a  beast  one  is." 

He  waited  in  silence.  It  seemed  to  him  the  best 
thing.  She  sat  down  a  little  wearily.  He  remained 
standing  a  few  feet  away. 

"I  have  given  you  away  Lawrence,"  she  said, 
quietly. 

"So,"  he  remarked,  "I  understand." 

"Hester  has  told  you,  of  course.  I  am  not  blaming 
her.  She  did  quite  right.  Only  I  should  have  told 
you  myself.  I  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  assure  you 
of  this.  Our  secret  is  quite  safe.  The  man — with 
whom  I  made  a  fool  of  myself — has  given  me  his 
word  of  honour." 

"Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean's — word  of  honour!"  Man- 
nering  remarked,  with  slow  scorn.  "  Do  you  know  the 
man,  I  wonder?" 

"I  know  that  he  wishes  to  be  your  friend,  and  not 
your  enemy,"  she  said. 

"He  chooses  his  friends  for  what  they  are  worth  to 
him,"  Mannering  answered.  "It  is  all  a  matter  of  self- 
interest.  He  has  some  idea  of  making  me  the  stepping- 
stone  to  his  advancement.  I  have  a  place  just  now  in 
his  scheme  of  life.  But  as  for  friendship!  Borrowdean 
does  not  know  the  meaning  of  the  word." 

"You  speak  bitterly,"  she  remarked. 

"I  know  the  man,"  he  answered. 

''Will  you  tell  me,"  she  asked,  "what  it  is  that  he 
wants  of  you?" 


86  A  LOST  LEADER 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Is  this  worth  discussing  between  us?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Very  well,  then,  you  shall  know.  He  wants  me 
to  re-enter  political  life,  to  be  the  jackal  to  pull  the 
chestnuts  out  of  the  fire  for  him." 

"To  re-enter  political  life!    And  why  don't  you?" 

Mannering  turned  abruptly  round  and  looked  her 
in  the  face.  He  had  been  gazing  out  of  the  window, 
wondering  how  long  it  would  be  before  Heater  re- 
turned. 

"Why  don't  I!"  he  repeated,  a  little  vaguely.  "How 
can  you  ask  me  such  a  question  as  that?" 

She  was  undisturbed.  Again  he  marvelled  at  the 
change  in  her. 

"Is  it  so  very  extraordinary  a  question?"  she  said. 
"I  have  often  wondered  whether  you  meant  to  content 
yourself  with  your  present  life  always.  It  is  scarcely 
worthy  of  you,  is  it?  You  were  born  to  other  things 
than  to  live  the  life  of  a  country  gentleman.  You 
dabble  hi  literature,  they  say,  and  poke  your  stick 
into  politics  through  the  pages  of  the  reviews.  Why 
don't  you  take  your  coat  off  and  play  the  game?" 

Mannering  was  silent  for  several  moments.  He 
was,  however,  meditating  his  own  reply  less  than 
studying  his  questioner.  Her  attitude  was  amazing 
to  him.  She  watched  him  all  the  time,  frowning. 

"You  are  not  usually  so  tongue-tied,"  she  remarked, 
irritably.  "Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me?" 

"I  am  wondering,"  he  said,  quietly,  "what  has 
given  birth  to  this  sudden  interest  in  my  proceedings. 
What  does  it  matter  to  you  how  my  days  are  spent, 
or  what  manner  of  use  I  make  of  them?" 


MANNERING'S  ALTERNATIVE  87 

"There  was  a  time "  she  began. 

"A  time  irretrievably  past,"  he  interrupted,  shortly. 

"I  am  not  so  sure!"  she  declared,  doubtfully. 

"What  has  Borrowdean  to  do  with  this?"  he  asked 
her,  abruptly. 

"Borrowdean?" 

"Surely!  Some  one  has  been  putting  notions  into 
your  head." 

"Why  take  that  for  granted?"  she  asked,  equably. 
"The  pity  of  the  whole  thing  is  obvious  enough,  isn't 
it?  Sometimes  I  think  that  we  were  a  pair  of  fools. 
We  played  into  the  hands  of  fate.  We  were  brought 
face  to  face  with  a  terrible  situation.  Instead  of 
meeting  it  bravely  we  played  the  coward.  Why  don't 
you  forget,  Lawrence,  as  I  have  done?  Take  up  your 
work  again.  Set  a  seal  upon — that  memory." 

"I  have  outgrown  my  ambitions,"  he  answered. 
"Life  was  hot  enough  in  my  veins  then.  Desire  grows 
cold  with  the  years.  I  am  content." 

"But  I,"  she  answered  "am  not." 

"We  each  chose  our  life,"  he  reminded  her. 

"Perhaps.  I  -am  not  satisfied  with  my  choice. 
You  may  be  with  yours." 

"I  am." 

She  leaned  over  towards  him. 

"Once,"  she  said,  "you  offered  me  what  you  called 
— atonement.  I  refused  it.  Just  then  it  seemed 
horrible.  Now  that  feeling  has  passed  away.  I  am 
lonely,  Lawrence,  and  I  am  weary  of  the  sort  of  life 
I  have  been  living.  Supposing  I  asked  you  to  make 
me  that  offer  again?" 

Mannering  turned  slowly  towards  her.  He  was  not 
a  man  who  easily  showed  emotion,  but  there  were 


88  A  LOST  LEADER 

traces  of  it  now  in  his  face.  The  hand  which  rested 
on  the  back  of  his  chair  shook.  There  was  in  his  eyes 
the  look  of  a  man  who  sees  evil  things. 

"It  is  too  late,  Blanche,"  he  said.  "You  cannot 
be  in  earnest?" 

"Why  not?"  she  murmured,  dropping  her  eyes.  "I 
am  tired  of  my  life.  What  you  owed  me  then  you 
owe  me  now.  Why  should  it  be  too  late?  I  am  not 
an  old  woman  yet,  nor  are  you  an  old  man,  and  I 
am  weary  of  being  alone." 

Mannering  walked  to  the  window.  His  hand  went 
to  his  forehead.  It  was  damp  and  cold.  He  was 
afraid!  If  she  were  hi  earnest!  And  she  spoke  like 
a  woman  who  knew  her  mind.  She  was  always,  he 
remembered,  a  creature  of  caprice.  If  she  were  really 
in  earnest! 

"We  have  drifted  too  far  apart,  Blanche,"  he  said, 
making  an  effort  to  face  the  situation.  "Years  ago 
this  might  have  been  possible.  To-day  it  would  be  a 
dismal  failure.  My  ways  are  not  yours.  The  life  I 
lead  would  bore  you  to  death." 

"There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  alter  it," 
she  answered,  calmly.  "In  fact,  I  should  wish  you  to. 
Blakely  all  the  year  round  would  be  an  impossibility. 
You  could  come  and  live  in  London." 

He  looked  at  her  fixedly. 

"Have  you  forgotten?"  he  asked. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  a  moment. 
If  indeed  she  really  felt  any  emotion  it  passed  quickly 
away,  for  when  she  looked  up  again  there  were  no 
traces  left. 

"I  have  forgotten  nothing,"  she  declared,  defiantly. 
"Only  the  horror  and  fear  of  it  all  has  passed  away. 


MANNERING'S  ALTERNATIVE  89 

I  don't  see  why  I  should  suffer  all  my  life.  In  fact,  I 
don't  mean  to.  I  don't  want  to  be  a  miserable,  lonely 
old  woman.  I  want  a  home,  something  different  from 
this." 

Mannering  faced  her  gravely. 

"Blanche,"  he  said,  "you  are  proposing  something 
which  would  most  surely  ruin  the  rest  of  our  lives. 
What  we  might  have  been  to  one  another  if  things 
had  been  different  it  is  hard  to  say.  But  this  much 
is  very  certain.  We  belong  now  to  different  worlds. 
We  have  drifted  apart  with  the  years.  Even  the  little 
we  see  of  one  another  now  is  far  from  a  pleasure  to 
either  of  us.  What  you  are  suggesting  would  be  simply 
suicidal." 

She  was  silent.  He  watched  her  anxiously.  As  a 
rule  her  face  was  easy  enough  to  read.  To-day  it 
was  impenetrable.  He  could  not  tell  what  was  pass- 
ing behind  that  still,  almost  stony,  look.  Her  silence 
forced  him  again  into  speech. 

"You  agree  with  me,  surely,  Blanche?  You  must 
agree  with  me?" 

She  raised  her  head. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  do,"  she  answered.  "But 
at  least  I  understand  you.  That  is  something!  You 
want  to  go  on  as  you  are — apart  from  me.  That  is 
true,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes!" 

She  nodded. 

"At  least  you  are  candid.  You  want  your  liberty — 
unfettered.  What  are  you  willing  to  pay  for  it?" 

He  looked  at  her  incredulously. 

"I  do  not  quite  understand!"  he  said. 

She  laughed,  and  the  laugh  belonged  to  her  old  self. 


90  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Indeed!  I  thought  that  I  was  explicit  enough, 
brutally  explicit,  even.  What  have  you  to  offer  me 
in  place  of  your  name  and  yourself?  What  sacrifice 
are  you  prepared  to  make?" 

He  looked  at  her  furtively,  as  though  even  then  he 
doubted  the  significance  of  her  words. 

"You  have  already  half  my  income,"  he  said,  slowly. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"A  thousand  a  year!  What  can  one  do  on  that? 
To  live  decently  hi  town  one  needs  much  more." 

"It  is  as  much  as  I  can  offer,"  he  remarked,  stiffly. 

"Then  you  should  earn  money,"  she  declared.  "It's 
easy  enough  for  men  with  brains.  Go  back  into  politics 
instead  of  idling  your  time  away  down  in  Blakely. 
I  mean  it!  I've  no  patience  with  men  who  have  a 
right  to  a  place  in  the  world  which  they  won't  fill." 

"Surely,"  he  remonstrated,  "I  may  be  allowed  to 
choose  the  manner  of  my  life!" 

"If  you  can  afford  to — yes,"  she  answered.  "But 
I  want  one  of  two  things.  The  first  seems  to  scare 
you  to  death  even  to  think  of.  The  second  is  more 
money — a  good  deal  more  money." 

"But,"  he  protested,  "even  if  I  did  as  you  suggested, 
and  went  back  into  politics,  it  would  be  some  time,  if 
ever,  before  I  should  be  any  better  off." 

"I  will  wait  until  that  time  comes,"  she  answered, 
"provided  that  when  it  does,  you  share  with  me." 

Then  Mannering  understood. 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  an  apt  con- 
spirator indeed.  All  this  tune  you  have  been  fooling 
me.  I  even  fancied — bah!  How  much  is  Borrowdean 
giving  you  for  this?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  she  answered,  coolly.    "It  is  my 


MANNERING'S  ALTERNATIVE  91 

own  sincere  desire  for  your  welfare  which  has  prompted 
all  that  I  have  said  to  you.  I  am  ambitious  for  you, 
Lawrence.  I  should  like  to  see  you  Prime  Minister. 
I  am  sure  you  could  be  if  you  tried.  You  are  letting 
your  talents  rust,  and  I  don't  approve  of  it!" 

The  faint  note  of  mockery  in  her  tone  was  clearly 
apparent.  Mannering  found  it  hard  to  answer  her 
calmly. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "put  it  into  plain  words.  What 
does  it  mean?  What  do  you  want?" 

"Sir  Leslie  tells  me,"  she  said,  raising  her  eyes  and 
looking  him  in  the  face,  "that  his  party  is  prepared 
to  find  you  a  safe  seat  to-morrow.  I  want  you  to 
give  up  your  hermit's  life  and  accept  it." 

"And  the  alternative?" 

"You  have  it  already  before  you.  Your  reception 
of  it  was  not,  I  must  admit,  altogether  flattering." 

"I  am  allowed,"  he  said,  "some  short  space  of  time 
for  consideration?" 

"Until  to-morrow,  if  you  wish,"  she  answered.  "I 
imagine  you  know  pretty  well  what  you  mean  to  do." 

He  picked  up  his  hat  and  turned  towards  the  door. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  I  do!" 


BOOK  II 

CHAPTER  I 

BORROWDEAN  MAKES  A  BARGAIN 

BORROWDEAN  sank  into  the  chair  which  Berenice 
had  indicated,  with  a  little  sigh  of  relief. 

"These  all-night  sittings,"  he  remarked,  "get  less 
of  a  joke  as  one  advances  in  years.  You  read  the 
reports  this  morning?" 

She  nodded. 

"And  Mannering's  speech?" 

"Every  word  of  it." 

"Our  little  conspiracy,"  he  continued,  "is  bearing 
fruit.  Honestly,  Mannering  is  a  surprise,  even  to  me. 
After  these  years  of  rust  I  scarcely  expected  him  to 
step  back  at  once  into  all  his  former  brilliancy.  His 
speech  last  night  was  wonderful." 

"I  heard  it,"  she  said.  "You  are  quite  right.  It 
was  wonderful." 

"You  were  in  the  House?"  he  asked,  looking  up 
quickly. 

"I  was  there  till  midnight,"  she  answered. 

Borrowdean  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment. 

"His  speech,"  he  remarked,  "sounded  even  better 
than  it  read." 

"I  thought  so,"  she  admitted.  "He  has  all  the 
smaller  tricks  of  the  orator,  as  well  as  the  gift  of  elo- 
quence. One  can  always  listen  to  him  with  pleasure." 


MAKES  A  BARGAIN  93 

"Will  you  pardon  me,"  Borrowdean  asked,  "if  I 
make  a  remark  which  may  sound  a  little  impertinent? 
You  and  Mannering  were  great  friends  at  Blakely. 
On  my  first  visit  there  you  will  remember  that  you 
did  not  attempt  to  conceal  that  there  was  more  than 
an  ordinary  intimacy  between  you.  Yet  to-day  I 
notice  that  there  are  indications  on  both  your  parts  of 
a  desire  to  avoid  one  another  as  much  as  possible.  It 
seems  to  me  a  pity  that  you  two  should  not  be  friends. 
Is  there  any  small  misunderstanding  which  a  common 
friend — such  as  I  trust  I  may  call  myself — might  help 
to  smooth  away?" 

Berenice  regarded  him  thoughtfully. 

"It  is  strange,"  she  said,  "that  you  should  talk  to 
me  like  this,  you  who  are  certainly  responsible  for  any 
estrangement  there  may  be  between  Mr.  Mannering 
and  myself.  Please  answer  me  this  question.  Why 
do  you  wish  us  to  be  friends?" 

Borrowdean  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  and  he  and  myself,  with  about  a  dozen  others," 
he  answered,  "form  the  backbone  of  a  political  party. 
As  time  goes  on  we  shall  in  all  probability  be  drawn 
closer  and  closer  together.  It  seems  to  me  best  that 
our  alliance  should  be  as  real  a  thing  as  possible." 

Berenice  smiled. 

"Rather  a  sentimental  attitude  for  you,  Sir  Leslie," 
she  remarked.  "Have  you  ever  considered  the  fact 
that  any  coolness  there  may  be  between  Lawrence 
Mannering  and  myself  is  entirely  due  to  you?" 

"To  me!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Exactly!  At  Blakely  we  were  on  terms  of  the  most 
intimate  friendship.  I  had  grown  to  like  and  respect 
him  more  than  any  man  I  had  ever  met.  I  don't 


94  A  LOST  LEADER 

know  exactly  why  I  should  take  you  so  far  into  my 
confidence,  but  I  am  inclined  to  do  so.  Our  friendship 
seemed  likely  to  develop  into — other  things." 

"My  dear  Duchess — 

"Don't  interrupt  me!  I  have  an  idea  that  you  were 
perfectly  aware  of  it.  Perhaps  it  did  not  suit  your 
plans.  At  any  rate,  you  made  statements  to  me 
concerning  him  which,  as  you  very  well  knew,  were 
likely  to  alter  my  entire  opinion  of  him.  I  had  an  idea 
that  there  was  some  code  of  honour  between  men 
which  kept  them  from  discussing  the  private  life  of 
their  friends  with  a  woman.  You  seem  to  have  been 
troubled  with  no  such  scruples.  You  told  me  things 
about  Lawrence  Mannering  which  made  it  absolutely 
necessary  that  I  should  hear  them  confirmed  or  denied 
from  his  own  lips." 

"You  would  rather  have  remained  in  ignorance, 
then?"  he  asked. 

"I  would  rather  have  remained  in  ignorance,"  she 
repeated,  calmly.  "Don't  flatter  yourself,  Sir  Leslie, 
that  a  woman  ever  has  any  real  gratitude  in  her  heart 
for  the  person  who,  out  of  friendship,  or  some  other 
motive,  destroys  her  ideals.  I  should  have  married 
Lawrence  Mannering  if  you  had  not  spoken." 

Borrowdean  was  silent.  In  his  heart  he  was  think- 
ing how  nearly  one  of  the  most  cherished  schemes  of 
his  life  had  gone  awry. 

"I  am  afraid,  then,"  he  said,  "that  even  at  the  risk 
of  your  further  displeasure  I  have  no  regrets  to  offer 
you." 

"I  do  not  desire  your  regrets,"  she  answered,  scorn- 
fully. "You  did  what  it  suited  you  to  do,  and  I  pre- 
sume you  are  satisfied.  As  for  the  rest,  I  can  assure 


MAKES  A  BARGAIN  95 

you  that  the  relations  between  Mr.  Mannering  and 
myself  are  such  that  the  balance  of  your  political 
apple-cart  is  not  likely  to  be  disturbed.  Now  let  us 
talk  of  something  else.  I  have  said  all  that  I  have  to 
say  on  this  matter " 

Sir  Leslie  was  not  entirely  satisfied  with  the  result 
of  his  afternoon  call.  He  walked  slowly  from  Grosvenor 
Square  to  a  small  house  in  Sloane  Gardens,  in  front 
of  which  a  well-appointed  victoria  was  waiting.  He 
looked  around  at  the  well-filled  window-boxes,  thick 
with  geraniums  and  marguerites,  at  the  coachman's 
new  livery,  at  the  evidences  of  luxury  which  met  him 
the  moment  the  door  was  opened,  and  his  lips  parted 
in  a  faint,  unpleasant  smile. 

"  Poor  Mannering,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  "  What 
a  millstone!" 

Mrs.  Phillimore  was  at  home.  She  would  certainly 
see  Sir  Leslie,  the  trim  parlour-maid  thought,  with  a 
smile.  She  left  him  alone  in  a  flower-scented  drawing- 
room,  crowded  with  rococo  furniture  and  many  knick- 
knacks,  where  he  waited  more  or  less  impatiently  for 
nearly  twenty  minutes.  Then  Mrs.  Phillimore  swept 
into  the  room,  elaborately  gowned  for  her  drive  in 
the  park,  dispersing  perfumes  in  all  directions  and 
bestowing  a  dazzling  smile  upon  him. 

"I  felt  very  much  inclined  not  to  see  you  at  all," 
she  declared.  "  How  dared  you  keep  away  from  me  all 
this  time?  You  haven't  been  near  me  since  I  moved 
in  here.  What  do  you  think  of  my  little  house?" 

"Charming!"  he  declared. 

"Every  one  likes  it,"  she  remarked.  "Such  a  time 
I  had  choosing  the  furniture.  Hester  wouldn't  help 
with  a  single  thing.  You  know  that  she  has  left  me?" 


96  A  LOST  LEADER 

"I  understood  that  she  had  gone  to  Mr.  Mannering 
as  secretary,"  he  answered.  "She  has  done  typing 
for  him  for  some  time,  hasn't  she?" 

Mrs.  Phillimore  nodded. 

"Worships  him,  the  little  fool!"  she  remarked.  "I 
must  admit  I  detest  clever  men.  You  are  all  so  dull, 
and  such  scheming  brutes,  too." 

Borrowdean  smiled.  A  certain  rough-and-ready 
humour  about  this  woman  always  appealed  to  him. 
He  looked  around. 

"You  seem  to  have  done  very  nicely  with  that 
little  offering,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  ready  money  goes  a  long  way,"  she  declared, 
carelessly. 

"And  when  it  is  spent?"  he  asked.  "Five  thou- 
sand pounds  is  not  an  inexhaustible  sum." 

"  By  the  time  it  is  spent,"  she  answered,  "  your 
party  will  be  in,  and  I  suppose  you  will  make  Law- 
rence something." 

Borrowdean  regarded  the  woman  thoughtfully. 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,"  he  asked,  "  that  the 
time  is  likely  to  come  when  Mannering  might  want 
his  money  for  himself?  He  might  want  to  marry, 
for  instance. 

She  laughed  mirthlessly,  but  without  a  shade  of 
uneasiness. 

"You  don't  know  Lawrence,"  she  declared,  scorn- 
fully. "He'd  never  do  that  whilst  I  was  alive." 

"I  am  not  so  sure,"  Borrowdean  answered,  calmly. 
"Between  ourselves,  I  cannot  see  that  your  claim 
upon  him  amounts  to  very  much." 

"Then  you're  a  fool!"  she  declared,  brusquely. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  Borrowdean  assured  her,  blandly. 


MAKES  A  BARGAIN  97 

"Now  I  fancy  that  I  could  tell  you  something  which 
would  surprise  you  very  much." 

"Has  he  been  making  love  to  any  one?"  she  asked, 
quickly. 

"Something  of  the  sort,"  he  admitted.  "Manner- 
ing  is  quixotic,  of  course,  and  that  hermit  life  of  his 
down  in  Norfolk  has  made  him  more  so.  Now  he  has 
come  back  again  into  the  world  it  is  just  possible  that 
he  may  see  things  differently.  I  flatter  myself  that  I 
am  a  man  of  common  sense.  I  know  how  the  whole 
affair  seems  to  me,  and  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  can 
see  nothing  from  the  point  of  view  of  honour  to  pre- 
vent Mannering  marrying  any  woman  he  chooses.  I 
think  it  very  possible  that  he  may  readjust  his  whole 
point  of  view." 

The  woman  looked  around  her,  and  outside,  where 
her  victoria  was  waiting.  At  last  she  had  attained 
to  an  environment  such  as  she  had  all  her  life  de- 
sired. The  very  idea  that  at  any  moment  it  might 
be  swept  away  sent  a  cold  shiver  through  her.  Bor- 
rowdean  had  a  trick  of  speaking  convincingly.  And 
besides 

"Who  is  the  woman?"  she  asked. 

"I  had  been  wondering,"  Borrowdean  said,  "whether 
it  would  not  be  better  to  tell  you,  so  that  you  might 
be  on  your  guard.  The  woman  is  the  Duchess  of 
Lenchester." 

She  stared  at  him. 

"You're  in  earnest?" 

"Absolutely!" 

Her  face  hardened.  Whatever  other  feelings  she 
may  have  had  for  Mannering,  she  had  lived  so  long 
with  the  thought  that  he  belonged  to  her,  at  least  as 


98  A  LOST  LEADER 

a  wage-earning  animal,  a  person  whose  province  it 
was  to  make  her  ways  smooth  so  far  as  his  means 
permitted,  that  the  thought  of  losing  him  stirred  in 
her  a  dull,  jealous  anger. 

"I'd  stop  it!"  she  declared.  "I'd  go  and  tell  her 
every  thing." 

"I  am  not  sure,"  Borrowdean  continued,  smoothly, 
"that  that  would  be  the  best  course.  Supposing  that 
you  were  to  tell  her  the  story  just  as  you  told  it  to  me. 
It  is  just  possible  that  her  point  of  view  might  be  mine. 
She  might  regard  Lawrence  Mannering  as  a  quixotic 
person,  and  endeavour  to  persuade  him  that  your  claim 
was  scarcely  so  binding  as  he  seems  to  imagine.  In  any 
case,  I  do  not  think  that  your  story  would  prevent  her 
marrying  him." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is  that  she  is  a  woman  with  a 
very  queer  sense  of  right  and  wrong,"  Mrs.  Phillimore 
declared,  angrily. 

Borrowdean  smiled. 

"A  woman,"  he  said,  "who  is  fond  of  a  man  is  apt 
to  have  her  judgment  a  little  warped.  The  Duchess 
is  a  woman  of  fine  perceptions  and  sound  judgment. 
But  she  is  attracted  by  Lawrence  Mannering.  She 
admires  him.  He  is  the  sort  of  person  who  appeals 
to  her  imagination.  These  feelings  might  easily  be- 
come, if  they  have  not  already  developed  into,  some- 
thing else.  And  I  tell  you  again  that  I  do  not 
believe  your  story  would  stop  her  from  marrying 
him." 

She  leaned  a  little  towards  him. 

"What  would?"  she  asked,  earnestly. 

He  hesitated. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  could  tell  you  that!" 


MAKES  A  BARGAIN  99 

She  held  up  her  hand. 

"Stop,  please,"  she  said.  "I  want  to  ask  you  some- 
thing else.  Are  you  Lawrence's  enemy?" 

"I?    Why,  of  course  not!" 

"Then  where  do  you  come  in?"  she  asked,  bluntly. 
"You  couldn't  persuade  me  that  it  is  interest  on  my 
account  which  brings  you  here  and  makes  you  tell 
me  these  things.  You  don't  care  a  button  for  me." 

Borrowdean  took  her  hand  and  leaned  forward  in 
his  chair.  She  snatched  it  away. 

"Oh,  rot!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  may  be  a  fool,  but 
I'm  not  quite  fool  enough  for  that.  I'm  simply  a  use- 
ful person  for  the  moment  hi  some  scheme  of  yours,  and 
I  just  want  to  know  what  that  scheme  is.  That's  all! 
I'm  not  the  sort  of  woman  you'd  waste  a  moment  with, 
except  for  some  purpose  of  your  own.  You've  proved 
that.  You  wormed  my  story  out  of  me  very  cleverly, 
but  I  haven't  quite  forgotten  it  yet,  you  know.  And 
to  tell  you  the  truth,"  she  continued,  "you're  not  my 
sort,  either.  You  and  Lawrence  Mannering  are  some- 
thing of  the  same  kidney  after  all,  though  he's  worth 
a  dozen  of  you.  You've  neither  of  you  any  tune  for 
play  in  the  world,  and  that  sort  of  man  doesn't  appeal 
to  me.  Now  where  do  you  come  hi?" 

Borrowdean  looked  at  her  thoughtfully.  He  had 
the  air  of  a  man  a  trifle  piqued.  Perhaps  for  the  first 
time  he  realized  that  Blanche  Phillimore  was  not  alto- 
gether an  unattractive-looking  woman.  If  she  had 
desired  to  stir  him  from  his  indifference  she  could  not 
have  chosen  any  more  effectual  means. 

"I  am  not  going  to  argue  with  you,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"I  have  ambitions,  it  is  true,  and  the  world  is  not 
exactly  a  playground  for  me.  Nevertheless,  I  am  not 


100  A  LOST  LEADER 

an  ascetic  like  Mannering.  The  world,  the  flesh  and 
the  devil  are  very  much  to  me  what  they  are  to  other 
men.  But  in  a  sense  you  have  cornered  me,  and  you 
shall  have  the  truth.  I  want  to  marry  the  Duchess  of 
Lenchester  myself." 

She  nodded. 

"That's  right,"  she  said.  "Now  we  know  where  we 
are.  You  want  to  marry  the  Duchess,  and  therefore 
you  don't  want  her  to  have  Lawrence.  You  think  that 
I  can  stop  it,  and  as  I  don't  want  him  married, 
either,  you  come  to  me.  That  is  reasonable.  Now 
how  can  I  prevent  it?" 

"By  a  slight  variation  from  your  story,"  he  answered. 
"In  fact,  words  are  not  needed.  A  suggestion  only 
would  be  enough,  and  circumstances,"  he  added,  glanc- 
ing around,  "are  strongly  in  favour  of  that  suggestion." 

"You  mean " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Mannering  is  security  for  your  lease,"  he  remarked. 
"You  pay  in  his  cheques  to  your  bank  every  quarter. 
He  occupies  just  that  position  which  in  a  general  way 
is  capable  of  one  explanation  only." 

"Well?" 

"Let  the  Duchess  believe  him,  or  continue  to  believe 
him,  to  be  an  ordinary  man — instead  of  a  fool — and 
she  will  never  marry  him." 

"And  she  will  you?" 

"I  hope  so!" 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair.  He  could  not  alto- 
gether understand  her  silence.  Surely  she  could  have 
no  scruples? 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  said  at  last,  "that  I  am  to  play 
your  game  for  nothing.  I  don't  care  so  very  much, 


MAKES  A  BARGAIN  101 

after  all,  if  he  marries.  He'd  settle  all  he  could  on  me. 
In  fact,  I  should  have  just  as  much  claim  on  him  as  I 
have  now." 

"I  did  not  say  that  you  should  play  it  for  nothing," 
he  answered.  "I  want  us  to  understand  each  other, 
because  I  have  an  idea  that  you  may  be  seeing  some- 
thing of  the  Duchess  at  any  moment.  Let  us  put  it 
this  way.  Suppose  I  promise  to  give  you  a  diamond 
necklace  of  the  value  of,  say  five  thousand  pounds, 
the  day  I  marry  the  Duchess!" 

She  rose  and  put  pen  and  paper  before  him.  He 
shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  put  an  arrangement  of  that  sort  on  paper," 
he  protested.  "You  must  rely  upon  my  word  of 
honour." 

She  held  out  the  pen  to  him. 

"On  paper,  or  the  whole  thing  is  off  absolutely," 
she  declared. 

"You  won't  trust  me?" 

She  looked  at  him. 

"There  isn't  much  honour  about  an  arrangement 
of  this  sort,  is  there?"  she  said.  "It  has  to  be  on 
paper,  or  not  at  all." 

A  carriage  stopped  outside.    They  heard   the   bell 

"That,"  she  remarked,  "may  be  the  Duchess  of 
Lenchester." 

He  caught  up  the  pen  and  wrote  a  few  hurried 
lines.  The  smile  with  which  he  handed  it  to  her 
was  not  altogether  successful. 

"After  all,  you  know,"  he  said,  "there  should  be 
honour  amongst  theives." 

"No  doubt  there  is,"  she  answered.  "Only  thieves 
are  a  cut  above  us,  aren't  they?" 


102  A  LOST  LEADER 

"I  don't  believe,"  Borrowdean  said  to  himself,  as 
he  reached  the  pavement,  "that  that  woman  is  such 
a  fool  as  she  seems." 


CHAPTER  II 

"CHERCHEZ   LA   FEMME" 

MANNERING  hated  dinner  parties,  but  this  one 
had  been  a  necessity.  Nevertheless,  if  he  had 
known  who  his  companion  for  the  evening  was  fated 
to  be  he  would  most  certainly  have  stayed  away.  Her 
first  question  showed  him  that  she  had  no  intention  of 
ignoring  memories  which  to  him  were  charged  with  the 
most  subtle  pain. 

He  looked  down  the  table,  and  back  again  into  her 
face. 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  said.  "This  is  different. 
We  cannot  compare.  We  can  judge  only  by  effect — 
the  effect  upon  ourselves." 

"Can  you  be  analytical  and  yet  remain  within  the 
orbit  of  my  understanding?"  she  asked,  with  a  faint 
smile.  "If  so,  I  should  like  to  know  exactly  how  you 
feel  about  it  all." 

He  passed  a  course  with  a  somewhat  weary  gesture 
of  refusal,  and  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"You  are  comprehensive — as  usual,"  he  remarked. 
"Just  then  I  was  wondering  whether  the  perfume  of 
these  banks  of  hot-house  flowers — I  don't  know  what 
they  are — was  as  sweet  as  the  odour  of  the  salt  from 
the  creeks,  or  my  roses  when  the  night  wind  touched 
them." 

"  You  were  wondering !  And  what  have  you  decided?  " 

"Ah,  I  must  not  say.     In  any  case  you  would  not 


104  A  LOST  LEADER 

agree  with  me.  Wasn't  it  you  who  once  scoffed  at 
my  idyll  in  the  wilderness?" 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  believe  hi  idylls,  nowadays," 
she  answered.  "One  risks  so  many  disappointments 
when  one  believes  in  anything." 

He  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"You  did  not  talk  like  this  at  Blakely,"  he 
remarked. 

"I  am  nearly  a  year  older,"  she  answered,  "and  a 
year  wiser." 

"You  pain  me,"  he  answered,  with  a  little  sigh. 
"You  are  a  person  of  intelligence,  and  you  talk  of 
growing  wiser  with  the  years.  Don't  you  know  that 
the  only  supreme  wisdom  is  the  wisdom  of  the  child? 
Our  inherent  ignorance  is  fed  and  nourished  by  ex- 
perience." 

"You  are  hiding  yourself,"  she  remarked,  "behind 
a  fence  of  words — words  that  mean  less  than  nothing! 
I  don't  suppose  that  even  you  would  hesitate  to  admit 
that  you  have  come  into  a  larger  world.  You  may 
have  to  pay  for  it.  We  all  do.  But  at  any  rate  it 
is  an  atmosphere  which  breeds  men." 

"And  changes  women,"  he  murmured,  under  his 
breath. 

She  did  not  speak  to  him  for  several  moments. 
Then  the  alteration  in  her  tone  and"  manner  was  almost 
marked. 

"You  mentioned  Blakely  a  few  minutes  ago,"  she 
said.  "I  wonder  whether  you  remember  our  discus- 
sion there  upon  precisely  what  has  come  to  pass." 

"Perfectly!" 

"I  remember  that  in  those  days,"  she  continued, 
reflectively,  "you  were  very  firm  indeed,  or  was  it 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  105 

my  poor  arguments  that  were  at  fault?  Your  vegetable 
and  sentimental  existence  was  a  part  of  yourself. 
Ambition!  You  had  forgotten  what  it  was.  Duty! 
You  spouted  individualism  by  the  hour.  Gratify  my 
curiosity,  won't  you?  Tell  me  what  made  you  change 
your  mind?" 

Mannering  was  silent  for  a  moment.  A  close  ob- 
server might  have  noticed  a  certain  alteration  in  his 
face.  A  touch  of  the  coming  weariness  was  already 
there. 

"I  have  never  changed  my  mind,"  he  answered, 
quietly.  "My  inclinations  to-day  are  what  they  have 
always  been." 

She  dropped  her  voice  a  little. 

"You  puzzle  me,"  she  said,  softly.  "Do  you  mean 
that  it  was  your  sense  of  duty  which  was  awakened?" 

"No,  I  do  not  mean  that,"  he  answered.  "For- 
give me — but  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  do  mean. 
Circumstances  brought  me  here  against  my  will." 

"You  talk  like  a  slave,"  she  said,  lightly  enough. 
She,  too,  was  brave.  She  drank  wine  to  keep  the 
colour  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  told  herself  that  the 
pain  at  her  heart  was  nothing.  Nevertheless,  some 
words  of  Borrowdean's  were  mocking  her  all  the  while. 

"We  are  all  slaves,"  he  answered.  "The  folly  of 
it  all  is  when  we  stop  to  think.  Then  we  realize  it." 

Their  conversation  was  like  a  strangled  thing. 
Neither  made  any  serious  effort  to  re-establish  it. 
It  was  a  great  dinner  party,  chiefly  political,  and 
long  drawn  out.  Afterwards  came  a  reception,  and 
Mannering  was  at  once  surrounded.  It  was  nearly 
midnight  when  by  chance  they  came  face  to  face 
again.  She  touched  him  with  her  fan,  and  leaned 


106  A  LOST  LEADER 

aside    from    the    little    group    by    whom    she    was 
surrounded. 

"Are  you  very  much  occupied,  Mr.  Mannering, " 
she  asked,  lightly,  "or  could  you  spare  me  a  moment?" 

He  stopped  short.  Whatever  surprise  he  may  have 
felt  he  concealed. 

"I  am  entirely  at  your  service,  Duchess,"  he  answered. 
"Mr.  Harrison  will  excuse  me,  I  am  sure,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  companion. 

She  rested  her  fingers  upon  his  arm.  The  house 
belonged  to  a  relative  of  hers,  and  she  knew  where  to 
find  a  quiet  spot.  When  they  were  alone  she  did  not 
hesitate  for  a  moment. 

"Lawrence,"  she  said,  quietly,  "will  you  imagine 
for  a  moment  that  we  are  back  again  at  Blakely?" 

"I  would  to  God  we  were!"  he  answered,  impul- 
sively. "That  is — if  you  wish  it  too!" 

She  did  not  answer  at  once.  The  sudden  abnegation 
of  his  reserve  took  her  by  surprise.  She  had  to  re- 
adjust her  words. 

"At  least,"  she  said,  "there  are  many  things  about 
Blakely  which  I  regret  all  the  time.  You  know,  of 
course,  the  chief  one,  our  own  altered  selves.  I  know, 
Lawrence,  that  I  need  to  ask  your  forgiveness.  I 
came  there  under  an  assumed  name,  and  I  will 
admit  that  my  coming  was  part  of  a  scheme  between 
Ronalds,  Rochester  and  myself.  Well,  I  am  ready  to 
ask  your  forgiveness  for  that.  I  don't  think  you  ought 
to  refuse  it  me.  It  doesn't  alter  anything  that  hap- 
pened. It  doesn't  even  affect  it.  You  must  believe 
that!" 

"I  believe  it,  if  you  tell  me  so,"  he  answered. 

"I  do  tell  you,"  she  declared.    "I  can  explain  it 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  107 

all.  I  am  longing  to  have  it  all  off  my  mind.  But 
first  of  all,  there  is  just  one  thing  which  I  want  to  ask 
you." 

His  face  as  he  looked  towards  her  gave  her  almost 
a  shock.  Very  little  was  left  of  his  healthy  colouring. 
Already  there  were  lines  under  his  eyes,  and  he  was 
certainly  thinner.  And  there  was  something  else  which 
almost  appalled  her.  There  was  fear  in  his  manner. 
He  sat  like  a  man  waiting  for  sentence,  a  man  fore- 
doomed. 

"I  want  to  know,"  she  said,  "what  has  brought 
you — here.  I  want  to  know  what  manner  of  persua- 
sion has  prevailed — when  mine  was  so  ineffectual. 
Don't  think  that  I  am  not  glad  that  you  decided  as 
you  did.  I  am  glad — very.  You  are  in  your  rightful 
place,  and  I  am  only  too  thankful  to  hear  about  you, 
and  read — and  watch.  But — we  are  jealous  creatures, 
we  women,  you  know,  and  I  want  to  know  whose  and 
what  arguments  prevailed,  when  mine  were  so  very 
insufficient." 

He  answered  her  without  hesitation,  but  his  tone 
was  dull  and  spiritless. 

"I  cannot  tell  you!" 

There  was  a  short  silence.  She  gathered  her  skirts 
for  a  moment  in  her  hand  as  though  about  to  rise, 
but  apparently  changed  her  mind.  She  waited  for 
some  time,  and  then  she  spoke  again. 

"Perhaps  you  think  that  I  ought  not  to  ask?" 

He  looked  at  her  hopelessly. 

"No,  I  don't  think  that.  You  have  a  right  to  ask. 
But  it  doesn't  alter  things,  does  it?  I  can't  tell  you." 

"You  asked  me  to  marry  you." 

"It  was   at  Blakely.    We  were  so  far  out  of  the 


108  A  LOST  LEADER 

world — such  a  different  world.  I  think  that  I  had 
forgotten  all  that  I  wished  to  forget.  Everything 
seemed  possible  there." 

"You  mean  that  you  would  have  married  me  and 
told  me  nothing  of  circumstances  in  your  life,  so  mo- 
mentous that  they  have  practically  exercised  in  this 
matter  of  your  return  to  politics  a  compelling  influ- 
ence over  you?  " 

"I  am  sure,"  he  said,  "that  I  should  not  have  told 
you!" 

His  unhappiness  moved  her.  She  still  lingered. 
She  drew  a  little  breath,  and  she  went  a  good  deal 
further  than  she  had  meant  to  go. 

"It  has  been  suggested  to  me,"  she  said,  "that  your 
reappearance  was  due  to  a  woman's  influence.  Is 
this  true?" 

"A  woman  had  something  to  do  with  it,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"Who  is  she?" 

"Her  name,"  he  answered,  "is  Blanche  Phillimore. 
It  was  the  person  to  whom  you  yourself  alluded." 

The  Duchess  maintained  her  self-control.  She  was 
quite  pale,  however,  and  her  tone  was  growing  omi- 
nously harder. 

"Is  she  a  connection  of  yours?" 

"No!" 

"Is  there  anything  which  you  could  tell  me  about 
her?" 

"No!" 

"Yet  at  her  bidding  you  have  done — what  you 
refused  me." 

"I  had  no  choice!  Borrowdean  saw  to  that,"  he 
remarked,  bitterly. 


"CHERCHEZ  LA  FEMME"  109 

She  rose  to  her  feet.  She  was  pale,  and  her  lips 
were  quivering,  but  she  was  splendidly  handsome. 

"What  sort  of  a  man  are  you,  Lawrence  Manner- 
ing?"  she  asked,  steadily.  "You  play  at  idealism, 
you  asked  me  to  marry  you.  Yet  all  the  time  there 
was  this  background." 

"It  was  madness,"  he  admitted.  "But  remember 
it  was  Mrs.  Handsell  whom  I  asked  to  be  my  wife." 

"What  difference  does  that  make?  She  was  a 
woman,  too,  I  suppose,  to  be  honoured — or  insulted 
—by  your  choice!" 

"There  was  no  question  of  insult,  I  think." 

She  looked  at  him  steadfastly.  Perhaps  for  a  mo- 
ment her  thoughts  travelled  back  to  those  unforgotten 
days  hi  the  rose-gardens  at  Blakely,  to  the  man  whose 
delicate  but  wholesome  joy  in  the  wind  and  the  sun 
and  the  flowers,  the  sea-stained  marshes  and  the  windy 
knolls  where  they  had  so  often  stood  together,  she 
could  not  forget.  His  life  had  seemed  to  her  then 
so  beautiful  a  thing.  The  elementary  purity  of  his 
thoughts  and  aspirations  were  unmistakable.  She 
told  herself  passionately  that  there  must  be  a  way  out. 

"Lawrence, "she  said,  "we  are  man  and  woman, 
not  boy  and  girl.  You  asked  me  to  marry  you  once, 
and  I  hesitated,  only  because  of  one  thing.  I  do  not 
wish  to  look  into  any  hidden  chambers  of  your  life. 
I  wish  to  know  nothing,  save  of  the  present.  What 
claim  has  this  woman  Blanche  Phillimore  upon  you?" 

"It  is  her  secret,"  he  answered,  "not  mine  alone." 

"She  lives  in  your  house — through  her  you  are  a 
poor  man — through  her  you  are  back  again,  a  worker 
in  the  world." 

"Yes!" 


110  A  LOST  LEADER 

"It  must  always  be  so?" 

"Yes." 

"And  you  have  nothing  more  to  say?" 

"If  I  dared,"  he  said,  raising  his  eyes  to  hers,  "I 
would  say — trust  me!  I  am  not  exactly — one  of  the 
beasts  of  the  field." 

"Will  you  not  trust  me,  then?  I  am  not  a  foolish 
girl.  I  am  a  woman.  You  may  destroy  an  ideal, 
but  there  would  be  something  left." 

"I  can  tell  you  no  more." 

"Then  it  is  to  be  good-bye?" 

"If  you  say  so!" 

She  turned  slowly  away.  He  watched  her  disap- 
pear. Afterwards,  with  a  curious  sense  of  unreality, 
he  remained  quite  still,  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the 
portiere  through  which  she  had  passed. 


CHAPTER  III 
ONE  OP  THE  "SUFFERERS" 

MANNERING  kept  no  carriage,  and  he  left  Down- 
ing Street  on  foot.  The  little  house  which  he  had 
taken  furnished  for  the  season  was  in  the  somewhat 
less  pretentious  neighborhood  of  Portland  Crescent, 
and  as  there  were  no  hansoms  within  hail  he  started 
to  walk  home.  An  attempt  at  a  short  cut  landed  him 
presently  in  a  neighborhood  which  he  failed  to  recog- 
nize. He  paused,  looking  about  him  for  some  one 
from  whom  to  inquire  the  way.  Then  he  at  once 
realized  what  he  had  already  more  than  once  suspected. 
He  was  being  followed. 

The  footsteps  ceased  as  he  himself  had  halted.  It 
was  a  wet  night,  and  the  street  was  ill-lit.  Never- 
theless, Mannering  could  distinguish  the  figure  of  a 
man  standing  in  the  shadows  of  the  houses,  apparently 
to  escape  observation.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated. 
His  follower  could  scarcely  be  an  ordinary  hooligan, 
for  not  more  than  fifty  yards  away  were  the  lights 
of  a  great  thoroughfare,  and  even  in  this  street,  quiet 
though  it  was,  there  were  people  passing  to  and  fro. 
His  curiosity  prompted  him  to  subterfuge.  He  took 
a  cigarette  from  his  case,  and  commenced  in  a  leisurely 
manner  the  operation  of  striking  a  light.  Instantly 
the  figure  of  the  man  began  to  move  cautiously  towards 
him. 

Mannering's    eyes    and    hearing,    keenly    developed 


112  A  LOST  LEADER 

by  his  country  life,  apprised  him  of  every  step  the 
man  took.  He  heard  him  pause  whilst  a  couple  of 
women  passed  on  the  other  side  of  the  way.  After- 
wards his  approach  became  swifter  and  more  stealthy. 
Barely  in  time  to  avoid,  he  scarcely  knew  what, 
Mannering  turned  sharply  round. 

"What  do  you  want  with  me?"  he  demanded. 

The  man  showed  no  signs  of  confusion.  Manner- 
ing,  as  he  looked  sternly  into  his  face,  lost  all  fear  of 
personal  assault.  He  was  neatly  but  shabbily  dressed, 
pale,  and  with  a  slight  red  moustache.  He  had  a 
somewhat  broad  forehead,  eyes  with  more  than  an 
ordinary  lustre,  and,  ha  somewhat  striking  contradic- 
tion to  the  rest  of  his  features,  a  large  sensitive 
mouth  with  a  distinctly  humorous  curve.  Even  now 
its  corners  were  receding  into  a  smile,  which  had  in 
it,  however,  other  elements  than  mirth  alone. 

"You  are  Mr.  Lawrence  Mannering?" 

"That  is  my  name,"  Mannering  answered,  "but 
if  you  want  to  speak  to  me  why  don't  you  come  up 
like  a  man,  instead  of  dogging  my  footsteps?  It 
looked  as  though  you  wanted  to  take  me  by  surprise. 
What  is  that  you  are  hiding  up  your  sleeve?" 

The  man  held  it  out,  placed  it  even  in  Mannering 's 
hand. 

"A  life  preserver,  steel,  as  you  see,  and  with  a 
beautiful  spring.  Deadly  weapon,  isn't  it,  sir?  Even 
a  half-hearted  sort  of  blow  might  kill  a  man." 

Mannering  swung  the  weapon  lightly  in  his  hand. 
It  cut  the  air  with  a  soft,  sickly  swish. 

"What  were  you  doing  following  me,  on  tiptoe, 
with  this  in  your  hand?"  he  asked,  sternly. 

"Well,"  the  man  answered,   as   though  forced   to 


ONE  OF  THE  "SUFFERERS "  113 

confess  an  unpleasant  truth,  "I  am  very  much  afraid 
that  I  was  going  to  hit  you  with  it." 

Mannering  looked  up  and  down  the  street  for  a 
policeman. 

"Indeed!"  he  said.  "And  may  I  ask  why  you 
changed  your  mind?" 

"It  was  an  inspiration,"  the  man  answered,  easily. 
"To  tell  you  the  truth,  the  clumsiness  of  the  whole 
thing  grated  very  much  upon  me.  Personally,  I  ran 
no  risk,  don't  think  it  was  that.  My  escape  was  very 
carefully  provided  for.  But  one  thinks  quickly  in 
moments  of  excitement,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  I 
took  those  last  few  steps  that  I  saw  a  better  way." 

"A  better  way,"  Mannering  repeated,  puzzled.  "I 
am  afraid  I  don't  quite  understand  you.  I  presume 
that  you  meant  to  rob  me.  You  would  not  have  found 
it  worth  while,  by  the  bye." 

The  man  laughed  softly. 

"My  dear  sir,"  he  exclaimed,  "do  I  look  like  a 
robber?  Rumour  says  that  you  are  a  poor  man.  I 
should  think  it  very  likely  that,  although  I  am  not  a 
rich  one,  I  am  at  least  as  well  off  as  you." 

Mannering  looked  out  no  more  for  the  policeman. 
He  was  getting  interested. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "I  should  like  to  understand 
what  all  this  means.  You  were  going  to  tap  me  on 
the  head  with  this  particularly  unpleasant  weapon, 
and  your  motive  was  not  robbery.  I  am  not  aware 
of  ever  having  seen  you  before.  I  am  not  aware  of 
having  an  enemy  in  the  world.  Explain  yourself." 

"I  should  be  charmed,"  the  man  answered.  "I 
do  not  wish  to  keep  you  standing  here,  however.  Will 
you  allow  me  to  walk  with  you  towards  your  home? 


114  A  LOST  LEADER 

You  can  retain  possession  of  that  little  trifle,  if  you 
like,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the  weapon  which  was 
still  in  Mannering's  hand.  "I  can  assure  you  that  I 
have  nothing  else  of  the  sort  hi  my  possession.  You 
can  feel  my  pockets,  if  you  like." 

"I  will  take  your  word!"  Mannering  said.  "I  was 
on  my  way  to  Portland  Crescent,  but  I  fancy  that  I 
have  taken  a  wrong  turn." 

"We  can  get  there  this  way,"  the  man  answered. 
"Excuse  me  one  second." 

He  paused,  and  lit  a  cigarette.  Then  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back  he  stepped  out  by  Mannering's  side. 

"What  was  that  you  said  just  now?"  he  remarked, 
"that  you  were  not  aware  of  having  an  enemy  hi  the 
world?  My  dear  sir,  there  was  never  a  more  extraor- 
dinary delusion.  I  should  seriously  doubt  whether  in 
the  whole  of  the  United  Kingdom  there  is  a  man  who 
has  more.  I  know  myself  of  a  million  or  so  who 
would  welcome  the  news  of  your  death  to-morrow.  I 
know  of  a  select  few  who  have  opened,  and  will  open 
then*  newspapers  to-morrow,  and  for  the  next  few  days, 
hi  the  hope  of  seeing  your  obituary  notice." 

A  light  commenced  to  break  in  upon  Mannering. 
He  looked  towards  his  companion  incredulously. 

"You  mean  political  opponents!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Is  that  what  you  are  driving  at  all  the  time?" 

The  man  laughed  softly. 

"My  friend,"  he  said — "excuse  me,  Mr.  Manner- 
ing— you  remind  me  irresistibly  of  Punch's  cartoon 
last  week — the  ostrich  politician  with  his  head  in  the 
sand.  You  have  thrust  yours  very  deep  down  indeed, 
when  you  talk  of  political  opponents.  Do  you  know 
what  they  call  you  hi  the  North,  sir?" 


ONE  OF  THE  "SUFFERERS"  115 

"No!" 

"The  enemy  of  the  people!  It  isn't  a  pleasant 
title,  is  it?" 

"It  is  a  false  one!"  Mannering  declared,  with  a  little 
note  of  passion  quivering  in  his  tone. 

"It  is  as  true  and  certain  as  the  judgment  of  God!" 
his  companion  answered,  with  almost  lightning-like 
rapidity. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  They  passed  a  lamp- 
post, and  Mannering,  turning  his  head,  scrutinized  the 
other's  features  closely. 

"I  should  like  to  know  who  you  are,"  he  said,  "and 
what  your  name  is." 

"It  is  a  reasonable  curiosity,"  the  man  answered. 
"My  name  is  Fardell,  Richard  Fardell,  and  I  am  a 
retired  bookmaker." 

"A  bookmaker!"  Mannering  repeated,  incredulously. 

"Precisely.  I  should  imagine  from  what  I  know 
of  you,  Mr.  Mannering,  that  my  occupation,  or  rather 
my  late  occupation,  is  not  one  which  would  appeal 
to  you  favourably.  Very  likely  not!  I  don't  see 
why  it  should  myself.  But  at  any  rate,  it  taught  me 
a  lot  about  my  fellow  men.  I  did  my  business  in 
shillings  and  half-crowns,  you  see.  Did  it  with  the 
working  classes,  the  sort  who  used  to  go  to  a  race- 
meeting  for  a  jaunt,  and  just  have  a  bit  on  for  the 
sake  of  the  sport.  Took  their  missus  generally,  and 
made  a  holiday  of  it,  and  if  they  lost  they'd  grin  and 
come  and  chaff  me,  and  if  they  won  they'd  spend  the 
money  like  lords.  I  made  money,  of  course,  bought 
houses,  and  made  a  lot  more.  Then  business  fell  off. 
I  didn't  seem  to  meet  with  that  cheerful  holiday-making 
crew  at  any  of  the  meetings  up  in  the  North,  and  I 


116  A  LOST  LEADER 

got  sick  of  it.  You  see,  I'd  made  sort  of  friends  with 
them.  They  all  knew  Dicky  Fardell,  and  I  knew 
hundreds  of  'em  by  sight.  They'd  come  and  mob  me 
to  stand  'em  a  drink  when  the  wrong  horse  won,  and  I 
can  tell  you  I  never  refused.  They  were  always  good- 
tempered,  real  sports  to  the  backbone,  and  I  tell  you 
I  was  fond  of  'em.  And  then  they  left  off  coming. 
I  couldn't  understand  it  at  first.  The  one  or  two 
who  came  talked  of  bad  trade,  and  when  I  asked 
after  their  pals  they  shook  their  heads.  They  betted 
in  shillings  instead  of  half-crowns,  and  I  didn't  like 
the  look  of  their  faces  when  they  lost.  I  tell  you,  it 
got  so  at  last  that  I  used  to  watch  for  the  horse 
they'd  put  their  bit  on  to  win,  and  feel  kind  o'  sick 
when  it  didn't.  You  can  imagine  I  couldn't  stand  that 
sort  of  thing  long.  I  chucked  it,  and  I  went  to  look 
for  my  pals.  I  wanted  to  find  out  what  had  become 
of  them." 

Mannering  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"You  found,  I  hope,"  he  said,  drily,  "that  the  Brit- 
ish workman  had  oliscovered  a  better  investment  for 
his  shillings  and  half  -crowns  than  the  race-course." 

Mr.  Richard  Fardell  smiled  pleasantly,  but  tolerantly. 

"It's  clear,"  he  said,  "that  you,  meaning  no  offence, 
Mr.  Mannering,  know  nothing  about  the  British  work- 
man. Whatever  else  he  may  be,  he's  a  sportsman. 
He'll  look  after  his  wife  and  kids  as  well  as  the 
best  of  them,  but  he'll  have  his  bit  of  sport  so  long 
as  he's  got  a  copper  in  his  pocket.  When  he  didn't 
come  I  put  my  kit  on  one  side  and  went  to  look  for 
him.  I  went,  mind  you,  as  his  friend,  and  knowing 
a  bit  about  him.  And  what  I  found  has  made  a 
changed  man  of  me." 


ONE  OF  THE  "SUFFERERS"  117 

Mannering  nodded. 

"I  am  afraid  things  are  bad  up  in  the  North,"  he 
said.  "You  mustn't  think  that  we  people  who  are 
responsible  for  the  laws  of  the  country  ignore  this, 
Mr.  Fardell.  It  is  a  very  anxious  time  indeed  with  all 
of  us.  Still,  I  presume  you  study  the  monthly  trade 
returns.  Some  industries  seem  prosperous  enough." 

"I'm  no  politician,"  Fardell  answered,  curtly. 
"Figures  don't  interest  me.  They're  just  the  drugs 
some  of  your  party  use  to  keep  your  conscience  quiet. 
Things  I  see  and  know  of  are  what  I  go  by.  And 
what  I've  seen,  and  what  I  know  of,  are  just  about 
enough  to  tear  the  heart  out  of  any  man  who  cares 
a  row  of  pins  about  his  fellows.  Now  I'm  going  to 
talk  plain  English  to  you,  Mr.  Mannering.  I  bought 
that  little  article  you  have  in  your  pocket  seriously 
meaning  to  knock  you  on  the  head  with  it.  And 
that  may  come  yet." 

Mannering  looked  at  him  in  amazement. 

"But  my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  "what  is  your  griev- 
ance against  me?  I  have  always  considered  myself  a 
people's  politician." 

"Then  the  people  may  very  well  say  'save  me  from 
my  friends',"  Fardell  answered,  grimly.  "Mind,  I 
believe  you're  honest,  or  you'd  be  lying  on  your  back 
now  with  a  cracked  skull.  But  you  are  using  a  great 
influence  on  the  wrong  side.  You're  standing  between 
the  people  and  the  one  reasonable  scheme  which  has 
been  brought  forward  which  has  a  fair  chance  of 
changing  their  condition." 

Then  Mannering  began  to  understand. 

"I  oppose  the  scheme  you  speak  of,"  he  answered, 
"simply  because  I  don't  believe  in  it.  Every  man 


118  A  LOST  LEADER 

has  a  right  to  his  opinion.  I  don't  believe  for  a 
moment  that  it  would  improve  the  present  condition 
of  things." 

"Then  what  is  your  scheme?"  Fardell  asked. 

"My  scheme!"  Mannering  repeated.  "I  don't  quite 
understand  you!" 

"Of  course  you  don't,"  Fardell  answered,  vigour- 
ously.  "You  can  weave  academic  arguments,  you 
can  make  figures  and  statistics  dance  to  any  damned 
tune  you  please.  If  I  tried  to  argue  with  you,  you'd 
squash  me  flat.  And  what's  it  all  come  to?  My  pals 
must  starve  for  the  gratification  of  your  intellectual 
vanity.  You  won't  listen  to  Tariff  Reform.  Then 
what  do  you  propose,  to  light  the  forges  and  fill  the 
mills?  Nothing!  I  say,  unless  you've  got  a  counter 
scheme  of  your  own,  you  ought  to  try  ours." 

"Come,  Mr.  Fardell,"  Mannering  said,  "I  can  assure 
you  that  all  I  have  said  and  written  is  the  outcome 
of  honest  thought.  I — 

"Stop!"  Fardell  exclaimed.  "Honest  thought!  Yes! 
Where?  In  your  study.  That's  where  you  theo- 
rists do  your  mischief.  You  can't  make  laws  for 
the  people  in  your  study.  You  can't  tell  the  status 
of  the  workingman  from  the  figures  you  read  in  your 
study.  You're  like  half  the  smug  people  in  the 
world  who  discuss  this  question  in  the  railway  car- 
riages and  in  their  clubs.  I've  heard  'em  till  I'd  like 
to  shove  their  self-opinionated  arguments  down  their 
throats,  strip  then*  clothes  off  their  backs,  and  send 
them  down  to  live  with  my  pals,  or  starve  with  them. 
Any  little  idiot  who  buys  a  penny  paper  and  who's 
doing  pretty  well  for  himself,  thinks  he  can  lay  down 
the  law  about  Free  Trade.  You're  all  of  one  kidney, 


ONE  OF  THE  "SUFFERERS"  119 

sir!  You  none  of  you  realize  this.  There  are  men  as 
good  as  any  of  you,  whose  wives  and  children  are  as 
dear  to  them  as  yours  to  you,  who've  got  to  see  them 
get  thinner  and  thinner,  who  don't  know  where  to  get 
a  day's  work  or  lay  their  hands  upon  a  copper,  and  all 
the  while  their  kids  come  crying  to  them  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  Put  yourself  in  their  place,  sir,  and  try 
and  realize  the  torture  of  it.  I've  been  amongst  'em. 
I've  spent  half  of  what  I  made,  and  a  good  many 
thousands  it  was,  buying  food  for  them.  Can  you 
wonder  that  my  fingers  have  itched  for  the  throats 
of  these  smug,  prosperous  pigs,  who  spurt  platitudes 
and  think  things  are  very  well  as  they  are  because 
they're  making  their  little  bit?  What  right  have  you 
— any  of  you — to  hesitate  for  a  second  to  try  any 
means  to  help  those  poor  devils,  unless  you've  got  a 
better  scheme  of  your  own?  Will  you  tell  me  that, 
sir?" 

They  had  reached  Mannering's  house,  and  he  threw 
open  the  gate. 

"You  must  come  in  with  me  and  talk  about  these 
things,"  Mannering  said,  gravely.  "You  seem  to  be 
the  sort  of  person  I've  been  wanting  to  meet  for  a 
long  time." 


B 


CHAPTER  IV 

DEBTS   OF  HONOUR 

ERENICE  found  the  following  morning  a  note  from 
Borrowdean,  which  caused  her  some  perplexity. 

"If  you  really  care,"  he  said,  "to  do  Mannering  a 
good  turn,  look  his  niece  up  now  and  then.  I  am  afraid 
that  young  woman  has  rather  lost  her  head  since  she 
came  to  London,  and  she  is  making  friends  who  will  do 
her  no  particular  good." 

Berenice  ordered  her  carriage  early,  and  drove  round 
to  Portland  Crescent. 

"My  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed,  as  Clara  came  into 
the  room,  "what  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself? 
You  look  ghastly!" 

Clara  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  looked  at  herself 
in  a  mirror. 

"I  do  look  chippy,  don't  I?"  she  remarked.     "I've 
been  spending  the  week-end  down  at  Bristow." 
1    "At  Bristow?"  Berenice  repeated.    Her  voice  spoke 
volumes.    Clara  looked  up  a  little  defiantly. 

"Yes!  We  had  an  awful  spree!  I  like  it  there 
immensely,  only " 

Berenice  looked  up. 

"I  notice,"  she  remarked,  ''that  there  is  generally 
an  'only'  about  people  who  have  spent  week-ends  at 
Bristow.  They  play  cards  there,  don't  they,  until 
daylight?  Some  one  once  told  me  that  they  kept  a 
professional  croupier  for  roulette!" 


DEBTS  OF  HONOUR  121 

"That  horrid  game!"  Clara  exclaimed.  "Please 
don't  mention  it.  I've  scarcely  slept  a  wink  all 
night  for  thinking  of  it." 

Berenice  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  inquired,  deliberately, 
"that  they  allowed  you  to  play — and  lose?" 

"It  wasn't  their  fault  I  lost,"  Clara  answered.  "Oh, 
what  a  fool  I  was.  Bobby  Bristow  showed  me  a  sys- 
tem. It  seemed  so  easy.  I  didn't  think  I  could  pos- 
sibly lose.  It  worked  beautifully  at  first.  I  thought 
that  I  was  going  to  pay  all  my  bills,  and  have  lots  of 
money  to  spend.  Then  I  doubled  the  stakes — I  wanted 
to  win  a  lot — and  everything  went  wrong!" 

"How  umch  did  you  lose?"  Berenice  asked.  Clara 
shivered. 

"Don't  ask  me!"  she  cried.  "Sir  Leslie  Borrow- 
dean  gave  his  own  cheques  for  all  my  I.  0.  U.'s.  He 
is  coming  to  see  me  some  time  to-day.  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  say  to  him." 

"Do  you  mean  to  go  on  playing?"  Berenice  asked, 
quietly,  "or  is  this  experience  enough  for  you?" 

"I  shall  never  sit  at  a  roulette  table  again  as  long 
as  I  live,"  she  declared.  "I  hate  the  very  thought 
of  it." 

"Then  you  can  just  ask  Sir  Leslie  the  amount  of 
the  I.  0.  U.'s,  and  tell  him  that  he  shall  have  a 
cheque  in  the  morning,"  Berenice  said.  "I  will  lend 
you  the  money." 

Clara  gave  a  little  gasp. 

"You  are  too  kind,"  she  exclaimed,  "but  I  don't 
know  when  I  shall  be  able  to  repay  you.  It  is — 
nearly  three  hundred  pounds!" 

"So  long   as   you  keep  your  word,"  Berenice  an- 


122  A  LOST  LEADER 

swered,  "and  do  not  play  again,  you  need  never  let 
that  trouble  you.  You  shall  have  the  cheque  before 
two  o'clock.  No,  please  don't  thank  me.  If  you 
take  my  advice  you  won't  spend  another  week-end  at 
Bristow.  It  is  not  a  fit  house  for  young  girls.  How 
is  your  uncle?" 

"I  haven't  seen  him  this  morning,"  Clara  answered. 
"Perkins  told  me  that  he  came  home  after  mid- 
night with  a  man  whom  he  seemed  to  have  picked 
up  in  the  street,  and  they  were  in  the  study  talking 
till  nearly  five  this  morning." 

Berenice  rose. 

"I  came  to  see  if  you  would  care  to  drive  down  to 
Ranelagh  with  me  this  morning,"  she  said,  "but  you 
are  evidently  fit  for  nothing  except  to  go  back  to  bed 
again.  I  won't  forget  the  cheque,  and  remember  me 
to  your  uncle.  By  the  bye,  where's  that  nice  young 
man  who  used  to  be  always  with  you  down  in  the 
country?" 

"You  must  mean  Mr.  Lindsay,"  Clara  answered. 
"I  have  no  idea.  At  Blakely,  I  suppose." 

"If  I  were  you,"  Berenice  said,  as  she  rose,  "I 
should  write  to  him  to  come  up  and  look  after  you 
You  need  it!" 

She  nodded  pleasantly  and  took  her  leave.    Clara 
threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  rang  the  bell. 

"Perkins,"  she  said,  "I  have  had  no  sleep  and  no 
breakfast.  What  should  you  recommend?" 

"An  egg  beaten  up  in  milk,  miss,"  the  man  sug- 
gested, "same  as  I've  just  taken  Mr.  Mannering." 

"Is  my  uncle  up?"  Clara  asked. 

"Not  yet,  miss,"  the  man  answered.  "He  is  just 
dressing." 


DEBTS  OF  HONOUR  123 

Clara  nodded. 

"Very  well.  Please  get  me  what  you  said,  and  if 
Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  calls  I  want  to  see  him  at  once." 

"Sir  Leslie  is  in  the  study  now,  miss,"  the  man 
answered.  "I  showed  him  in  there  because  I  thought 
he  would  want  to  see  Mr.  Mannering,  but  he  asked 
for  you." 

"Will  you  say  that  I  shall  be  there  in  three  minutes," 
Clara  said. 

The  three  minutes  became  rather  a  long  quarter 
of  an  hour,  but  Clara  had  used  the  time  well.  When 
she  entered  the  library  she  had  changed  her  dress, 
rearranged  her  hair,  and  by  some  means  or  another 
had  lost  her  unnatural  pallor.  Sir  Leslie  greeted  her 
a  little  gravely. 

"Glad  to  see  you  looking  so  fit,"  he  remarked. 
"They  did  us  a  bit  too  well  down  at  Bristow,  I 
thought.  It's  all  very  well  for  you  children,"  he  con- 
tinued, with  a  smile,  "but  when  a  man  gets  to  my 
time  of  life  he  misses  a  night's  rest." 

She  smiled. 

"You  don't  call  yourself  old,  Sir  Leslie!"  she 
remarked. 

"Well,  I'm  not  young,  although  I  like  to  think  I 
am,"  he  answered.  "I'm  afraid  there's  pretty  nearly 
a  generation  between  us,  Miss  Clara.  By  the  bye, 
where's  your  uncle  this  morning?" 

"Getting  up,"  she  answered.  "He  did  not  go  to 
bed  until  after  five,  Perkins  tells  me.  He  brought 
some  one  home  with  him  from  Dorchester's  reception, 
or  some  one  he  picked  up  afterwards,  and  they  seem 
to  have  sat  up  talking  all  night." 

Borrowdean  was  interested. 


124  A  LOST  LEADER 

"You  have  no  idea  who  it  was,  I  suppose?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"None  at  all.  Perkins  had  never  seen  him  before. 
When  do  you  poor  creatures  get  your  holiday,  Sir 
Leslie?" 

He  smiled. 

"The  session  will  be  over  in  about  three  weeks,'1 
he  answered,  "unless  we  defeat  the  Government  be- 
fore then.  Your  uncle  has  been  hitting  them  very 
hard  lately.  I  think  before  long  we  shall  be  in  office/' 

"Politics,"  she  said,  "seems  to  be  rather  a  greedy 
sort  of  business.  You  are  always  trying  to  turn  the 
other  side  out,  aren't  you?" 

"You  must  remember,"  he  answered,  "that  politics 
is  rather  a  one-sided  sort  of  affair.  The  party  which 
is  in  makes  a  very  comfortable  living  out  of  it,  and 
we  who  are  out  have  to  scrape  along  as  best  we  can. 
Rather  hard  upon  people  like  your  uncle  and  myself, 
who  are,  comparatively  speaking,  poor  men.  That 
reminds  me,"  he  said,  bringing  out  his  pocket-book, 
"I  thought  that  I  had  better  bring  you  these  little 
documents." 

"Those  horrid  I.  0.  U.'s,"  she  remarked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "I  am  sorry  that  you  were 
so  unlucky.  I  bought  these  from  the  bank,  Miss 
Clara,  as  I  thought  you  would  not  feel  comfortable 
if  you  had  to  leave  Bristow  owing  this  money  to 
strangers." 

"It  was  very  thoughtful  of  you,"  she  murmured. 
He  changed  his  seat  and  came  over  to  her  side  on  the 
sofa. 

"Have  you  any  idea  how  much  they  come  to?" 
he  asked,  smoothing  them  out  upon  his  knee. 


DEBTS  OF  HONOUR  125 

"I  am  afraid  to  nearly  three  hundred  pounds,"  she 
answered. 

He  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  they  come  to  a  good  deal 
more  than  that,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  do  not  forget 
that  I  took  the  liberty  of  advising  you  more  than  once 
to  stop.  You  had  the  most  abominable  luck." 

"More  than  three  hundred?"  she  gasped.  "How 
much  more?" 

"They  seem  to  add  up  to  five  hundred  and  eighty 
five  pounds,"  he  declared.  "I  must  confess  that  I 
was  surprised  myself." 

"There — I  think  there  must  be  some  mistake," 
Clara  faltered. 

He  handed  them  to  her. 

"You  had  better  look  them  through,"  he  said. 
"They  seem  all  right." 

She  took  them  hi  her  hand,  and  looked  at  them 
helplessly.  There  was  one  there  for  fifty  pounds 
which  she  tried  in  vain  to  remember — and  how  shaky 
her  handwriting  was.  A  sudden  flood  of  recollection 
brought  the  colour  into  her  cheeks.  She  remembered 
the  long  table,  the  men  all  smoking,  the  women  most 
of  them  a  little  hard,  a  little  too  much  hi  earnest — 
the  soft  click  of  the  ball,  the  silent,  sickening  mo- 
ments of  suspense.  Others  had  won  or  lost  as  much 
as  she,  but  perhaps  because  she  had  been  so  much 
in  earnest,  her  ill-luck  had  attracted  some  attention. 
She  remembered  Major  Bristow's  whispered  offer,  or 
rather  suggestion,  of  help.  Even  now  her  cheeks 
burned  at  something  in  his  tone  or  look. 

"I  suppose  it's  all  right,"  she  said,  dolefully,  "only 
it's  a  lot  more  than  I  thought.  I  shall  have  three 


126  A  LOST  LEADER 

hundred  pounds  in  the  morning,  but  I've  no  idea  where 
to  get  the  rest." 

"You  are  sure  about  the  three  hundred?"  Sir  Leslie 
asked,  quietly. 

"Quite." 

"Then  I  think  that  you  had  better  let  me  lend  you 
the  rest,  for  the  present,"  he  suggested.  "I  am  afraid 
your  uncle  would  be  rather  annoyed  to  know  that  you 
had  been  gambling  to  such  an  extent.  You  may  be 
able  to  think  of  some  way  of  paying  me  back  later  on." 

She  looked  up  at  him  hesitatingly.  There  was 
nothing  in  his  manner  which  suggested  hi  the  least 
what  Major  Bristow  had  almost  pronounced.  She 
drew  a  little  breath  of  relief.  He  was  so  much  older, 
and  after  all,  he  was  her  uncle's  friend. 

"Can  you  really  spare  it,  Sir  Leslie?"  she  asked. 
"I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful  I  should  be." 

He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  faint  smile. 

"I  can  spare  it  for  the  present,"  he  answered. 
"Only  if  you  see  any  chance  of  paying  me  back 
before  long,  do  so." 

"You  will  pardon  my  interference,"  said  an  ominously 
quiet  voice  from  the  doorway,  "  but  may  I  inquire 
into  the  nature  of  this  transaction  between  you  and 
my  niece,  Sir  Leslie?  Perhaps  you  had  better  explain 
it,  Clara!" 

They  both  turned  quickly  round.  Mannering  was 
standing  upon  the  threshold,  the  morning  paper  in 
his  hand.  Clara  sank  into  a  chair  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  Sir  Leslie  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

He  was  congratulating  himself  upon  the  discretion 
with  which  he  had  conducted  the  interview.  He  had 
for  a  few  moments  entertained  other  ideas. 


DEBTS  OF  HONOUR  127 

"Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  explain — 1J  he 
began. 

"I  should  prefer  to  hear  my  niece,"  Mannering 
answered,  coldly. 

Clara  looked  up.  She  was  pale  and  frightened,  and 
she  had  hard  work  to  choke  down  the  sobs. 

"Sir  Leslie  was  down  at  Bristow,  where  I  was 
staying — this  last  week-end,"  she  explained.  "I  lost 
a  good  deal  of  money  there  at  roulette.  He  very 
kindly  took  up  my  I.  0.  U.'s  for  me,  and  was  offer- 
ing when  you  came  in  to  let  it  stand  for  a  little 
time." 

"What  is  the  amount?"  Mannering  asked. 

Clara  did  not  answer.  Her  head  sank  again.  Her 
uncle  repeated  his  inquiry.  There  was  no  note  of 
anger  in  his  tone.  He  might  have  been  speaking  of 
an  altogether  indifferent  matter. 

"I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  trouble  you  to  tell  me 
the  exact  amount,"  he  said.  "Perhaps,  Borrowdean, 
you  would  be  so  good  as  to  inform  me,  as  my  niece 
seems  a  little  overcome." 

"The  amount  of  the  I.  0.  U.'s  for  which  I  gave  my 
cheque,"  Borrowdean  said,  "was  five  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  pounds.  I  have  the  papers  here." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  for  a  moment  or  two. 
Clara  looked  up  furtively,  but  she  could  learn  nothing 
from  her  uncle's  face.  It  was  some  time  before  he 
spoke.  When  at  last  he  did,  his  voice  was  certainly 
a  little  lower  and  less  distinct  than  usual. 

"Did  I  understand  you  to  say — five  hundred  and 
eighty-seven  pounds?" 

"That  is  the  amount,"  Borrowdean  admitted.  "I 
trust  that  you  do  not  consider  my  interference  in 


128  A  LOST  LEADER 

any  way  officious,  Mannering.  I  thought  it  best  to 
settle  the  claims  of  perfect  strangers  against  Miss 
Mannering." 

"May  I  ask,"  Mannering  continued,  "in  whose  house 
my  niece  was  permitted  to  lose  this  sum?" 

"It  was  at  the  Bristows',"  Clara  answered. 

"And  under  whose  chaperonage  were  you?"  Manner- 
ing asked. 

"Lady  Bristow's!  She  called  for  me  here,  and  took 
me  down  last  Friday." 

"Are  these  people  who  are  generally  accounted  re- 
spectable?" Mannering  asked. 

"I  don't  think  that  Bristow  is  much  better  or  worse 
than  half  of  our  country  houses,"  Borrowdean  an- 
swered. "People  who  are  at  all  in  the  swim  must  have 
excitement  nowadays,  you  know.  Bristow  himself  isn't 
very  popular,  but  people  go  to  the  house." 

Mannering  made  no  further  remark. 

"If  you  will  come  into  the  study,  Borrowdean," 
he  said,  "I  will  settle  this  matter  with  you." 

Borrowdean  hesitated. 

"Your  niece  said  something  about  having  three 
hundred  pounds,"  he  remarked. 

Mannering  glanced  towards  her. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  "that  that  must  be  a  mistake. 
My  niece  has  no  such  sum  at  her  command." 

Clara  rose  to  her  feet. 

"You  may  as  well  know  everything,"  she  said. 
"The  Duchess  of  Len Chester  came  in  and  found  me 
very  unhappy  this  morning.  I  told  her  everything, 
and  she  offered  to  lend  me  the  money.  I  told  her 
then  that  it  was  only  three  hundred  pounds.  I  thought 
that  was  all  I  owed." 


DEBTS  OF  HONOUR 


120 


"Have  you  made  any  other  confidants?"  Mannering 
asked. 

"No!" 

"You  will  return  the  Duchess's  cheque,"  Mannering 
said.  "Borrowdean,  will  you  come  this  way?" 


CHAPTER  V 

LOVE  versus  POLITICS 

BERENICE  was  a  little  annoyed.  It  was  the  hour 
before  dressing  for  dinner  which  she  always  de- 
voted to  repose — the  hour  saved  from  the  stress  of 
the  day  which  had  helped  towards  keeping  her  the 
young  woman  she  certainly  was.  Yet  Borrowdean's 
message  was  too  urgent  to  ignore.  She  suffered  her 
maid  to  wrap  some  sort  of  loose  gown  about  her,  and 
received  him  in  her  own  study. 

"My  dear  Sir  Leslie,"  she  said,  a  little  reproach- 
fully, "was  this  really  necessary?  You  know  that 
after  half-past  six  I  am  practically  a  person  not 
existing — until  dinner  time!" 

"I  should  not  have  ventured  to  intrude  upon  you," 
Borrowdean  said,  quickly,  "if  the  circumstances  had 
not  been  altogether  exceptional.  I  know  your  habits 
too  well.  I  have  just  come  from  Mannering." 

' '  From  M  annering — yes ! ' ' 

"Duchess,"  Borrowdean  said,  "have  you — forgive 
a  blunt  question — but  have  you  any  influence  over 
him?" 

Berenice  was  silent  for  several  moments. 

"You  ask  me  rather  a  hard  question,"  she  said. 
"A  few  months  ago  I  think  that  I  should  have  said 
yes.  To-day — I  am  not  sure.  What  has  happened? 
Is  anything  wrong  with  him?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  he  seems  to  have  gone  mad," 


LOVE  versus  POLITICS  131 

Borrowdean  said,  bitterly.  "I  went  to  him  to-day  to 
get  him  to  fix  the  dates  for  his  meetings  at  Glasgow 
and  Leeds.  What  do  you  think  his  answer  was?" 

''Don't  tell  me  that  he  wants  to  back  out!"  Bere- 
nice exclaimed.  " Don't  tell  me  that!" 

"Almost  as  bad!  He  told  me  quite  coolly  that 
he  was  not  prepared  finally  to  set  out  his  views  upon 
the  question  until  he  had  completed  a  course  of  per- 
sonal investigation  in  some  of  the  Northern  centres 
of  trade,  to  which  he  had  committed  himself." 

Berenice  looked  bewildered. 

"But  what  on  earth  does  he  mean?"  she  exclaimed. 
"Surely  he  knows  all  that  there  is  to  be  known.  His 
mastery  of  statistics  is  something  wonderful." 

"What  he  means  no  man  save  himself  can  even 
surmise,"  Borrowdean  answered.  "He  told  me  that 
he  had  had  information  of  a  state  of  distress  in 
some  of  our  Northern  towns — Newcastle  and  Hull 
he  mentioned,  and  some  of  the  Lancashire  places — 
which  had  simply  appalled  him.  He  was  determined  to 
verify  it  personally,  and  to  commit  himself  to  nothing 
further  until  he  had  done  so.  And  he  even  asked 
me  if  I  could  not  find  him  a  pair  until  the  end  of 
the  session,  so  that  he  could  get  away  at  once.  I  was 
simply  dumbfounded.  A  pair  for  Mannering!" 

Berenice  rose  to  her  feet.  She  walked  up  and  down 
the  little  room  restlessly. 

"Sir  Leslie,"  she  said  at  last,  "I  am  not  sure  whether 
I  have  what  you  would  call  any  influence  over  Mr. 
Mannering  now  or  not.  I  might  have  had  but  for 
you!" 

"Forme?"  Borrowdean  exclaimed. 

"  Yes.    It  was  you  who  told  me  of — of — that  woman," 


132  A  LOST  LEADER 

she  said,  haughtily,  but  with  the  colour  rising  almost 
to  her  temples.  "After  that,  of  course  things  were 
different  between  us.  We  are  scarcely  upon  such 
terms  at  present  as  would  justify  my  interference." 

Borrowdean  dropped  his  eyeglass,  and  swung  it 
deliberately  by  its  black  ribbon.  He  looked  steadily 
at  Berenice,  but  his  eyes  seemed  to  travel  past  her. 

"My  dear  Duchess,"  he  said,  quietly,  "the  game 
of  life  is  a  great  one  to  play,  and  we  who  would  keep 
our  hands  upon  the  board  must  of  necessity  make 
sacrifices.  It  is  your  duty  to  disregard  hi  this  instance 
your  feelings  towards  Mannering.  You  must  consider 
only  his  feelings  towards  you.  They  are  such,  I  be- 
lieve, as  to  give  you  a  hold  over  him.  You  must  make 
use  of  that  hold  for  the  sake  of  a  great  cause." 

Berenice  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"Indeed!  You  seem  to  forget,  Sir  Leslie,  that  my 
share  hi  this  game,  as  you  call  it,  must  always  be  a 
passive  one.  I  have  no  office  to  gain,  no  rewards  to 
reap.  Why  should  I  commit  myself  to  an  unpleasant 
task  for  the  sake  of  you  and  your  friends?" 

"It  is  your  party,"  he  protested.  "Your  party  as 
much  as  ours." 

"Granted,"  she  answered.  "Yet  who  are  the  re- 
sponsible members  of  it?  You  know  my  opinion  of 
Mannering  as  a  politician.  I  would  sooner  follow 
him  blindfold  than  all  the  others  with  my  eyes  open. 
Whatever  he  may  lack,  he  is  the  most  honest  and 
right-seeing  politician  who  ever  entered  the  House." 

"He  lacks  but  one  thing,"  Borrowdean  said,  "the 
mechanical  adjustment  of  the  born  politician  to  party 
matters.  Tliere  was  never  a  time  when  absolute 
unity  and  absolute  force  were  so  necessary.  If  he  is 


LOVE  versus  POLITICS  133 

going  to  play  the  intelligent  inquirer,  if  he  falters  for 
one  moment  in  his  wholesale  condemnation  of  this 
scheme,  he  loses  the  day  for  himself  and  for  us.  The 
one  thing  which  the  political  public  never  forgives  is 
the  man  who  stops  to  think." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  Berenice  asked. 

"To  go  to  him  and  find  out  what  he  means,  what 
influences  have  been  at  work,  what  is  underneath  it 
all.  Warn  him  of  the  danger  of  even  appearing 
doubtful,  or  for  a  moment  lukewarm.  The  one  person 
whom  the  public  will  not  have  in  politics  is  the  trifler. 
Think  how  many  there  have  been,  brilliant  men,  too, 
who  have  lost  their  places  through  a  single  false  step, 
a  single  year,  a  month  of  dilettantism.  Remind  him 
of  them.  The  man  who  moves  in  a  great  cause  may 
move  slowly,  if  you  will,  but  he  must  move  all  the 
time.  Remind  him,  too,  that  he  is  risking  the  one 
great  chance  of  his  life!" 

"He  is  to  be  Premier,  then?"  she  asked. 

"Yes!    There  is  no  alternative!" 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  said,  "I  will  go.  I  make  no 
promises,  mind.  I  will  listen  to  what  he  has  to  say. 
I  will  put  our  view  of  the  situation  before  him.  But 
I  make  no  promises.  It  is  possible,  even,  that  I  shall 
come  to  his  point  of  view,  whatever  it  may  be." 

Borrowdean  smiled. 

"I  have  no  fear  of  that,"  he  declared,  "but  at  least 
it  would  be  something  to  know  what  this  point  of 
view  is.  You  will  find  him  in  a  queer  mood.  That 
little  fool  of  a  niece  of  his  has  been  getting  hi  with  a 
fast  set,  and  making  the  money  fly.  You  have  heard 
of  her  last  escapade  at  Bristow?  " 

Berenice  nodded. 


134  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  went  there  this  morning  di- 
rectly I  had  your  note.  I  feel  rather  self-reproachful 
about  Clara  Mannering.  I  meant  to  have  looked  after 
her  more.  She  is  rather  an  uninteresting  young 
woman,  though,  and  I  am  afraid  I  have  let  her  drift 
away." 

"She  will  be  all  right  with  a  little  looking  after," 
Borrowdean  said.  "Forgive  me,  but  it  is  getting 
late." 

"I  will  go  at  once,"  she  said. 

Afterwards  she  wondered  often  at  that  strange,  un- 
certain fluttering  of  the  heart,  the  rush  and  glow  of 
feelings  warmer  than  any  which  had  lately  stirred  her, 
which  seemed  hi  those  first  few  minutes  of  their  being 
together,  to  make  an  altered  woman  of  her.  Manner- 
ing,  as  he  entered  the  room,  pale  and  listless,  was 
conscious  at  once  of  a  foreign  element  in  it,  something 
which  stirred  his  somewhat  slow-beating  pulse,  too, 
which  seemed  to  bring  back  to  him  a  flood  of  delicious 
memories,  the  perfume  of  his  rose-gardens  at  evening, 
the  soft  night  music  of  his  wind-stirred  cedars.  She 
had  thrown  aside  her  opera  cloak.  The  delicate  lines 
of  her  bust  seemed  to  have  expanded  with  the  unusual 
rise  and  fall  of  her  bosom.  A  faint  rose-tint  flush  of 
streaming  colour  had  stained  the  ivory  whiteness  of 
her  skin — her  eyes  as  they  sought  his  were  soft,  almost 
liquid.  They  met  so  seldom  alone — and  she  was  alone 
now  with  him  in  the  room  which  was  so  characteristi- 
cally his  own,  a  room  with  many  indications  of  his  con- 
stant presence,  which  one  by  one  she  had  been  realizing 
with  curiously  quickened  pulses  during  the  few  min- 
utes of  waiting.  On  her  way  here,  driving  in  an  open 


"  SHE  WAS  THE  ONLY  BEAUTIFUL  WOMAN   WHO  SAT  ALONE 
AND  COMPANIONLESS  " 

iPase  135 


LOVE  versus  POLITICS  135 

victoria,  through  the  soft  summer  evening,  she  had 
seemed  to  be  pursued  everywhere  by  a  new  world  of 
sensuous  suggestions.  Of  the  many  carriages  which 
she  had  passed,  hers  alone  seemed  to  savour  of  loneli- 
ness. She  was  the  only  beautiful  woman  who  sat  alone 
and  companionless.  In  a  momentary  block  she  had 
seen  a  man  in  a  neighbouring  hansom  slip  his  hand,  a 
strong,  brown,  well-looking  hand,  under  the  apron,  to 
hold  for  a  moment  the  fingers  of  the  woman  who  sat 
by  his  side — Berenice  had  caught  the  answering  smile, 
she  had  seen  him  lean  forward  and  whisper  something 
which  had  brought  a  deeper  flush  into  her  own  cheeks 
and  a  look  into  her  eyes,  half  amused,  half  tender. 
These  were  rare  moments  with  her,  these  moments  of 
sentiment — perhaps  for  that  reason  all  the  more  dan- 
gerous. She  forgot  almost  the  cause  of  her  coming. 
She  remembered  only  that  she  was  alone  with  the  one 
man  whose  voice  had  the  power  to  thrill  her,  whose 
touch  would  call  up  into  life  the  great  hidden  forces  of 
her  own  passionate  nature.  The  memory  of  all  other 
things  passed  away  from  her  like  a  cloud  gone  from 
the  face  of  the  sun.  She  leaned  towards  him.  His 
face  was  full  of  wonder — wonder,  and  the  coming  joy. 

"Berenice!"  he  exclaimed. 

She  let  herself  drift  down  the  surging  tide  of  this 
suddenly  awakened  passion.  She  held  out  her  arms 
and  pressed  her  lips  on  his  as  he  caught  her. 

Presently  she  pushed  him  gently  away — held  him 
there  at  arm's  length. 

"This  is  too  absurd,"  she  murmured,  and  drew  him 
once  more  towards  her  with  a  choking  little  laugh. 
"I  came  for  something  quite  different!" 


136  A  LOST  LEADER 

"What  does  it  matter  what  you  came  for,  so  long 
as  you  stay,"  he  answered.  "Say  that  you  came  to 
bring  a  glimpse  of  paradise  to  a  lonely  man!" 

She  disengaged  herself,  and  her  long  white  fingers 
strayed  mechanically  to  her  tumbled  hair.  The  ele- 
gant precision  of  her  toilette  had  given  place  to  a  most 
distracting  disarray.  She  felt  her  cheeks  burning  still, 
and  the  lace  at  her  bosom  was  all  crushed. 

"And  I  was  on  my  way  to  a  dinner  party,"  she 
whispered,  with  humorously  uplifted  eyebrows.  "I 
must  drive  back  home,  and — and " 

"And  what?"  he  demanded. 

"And  send  an  excuse,"  she  declared,  demurely.  "I 
am  not  equal  to  a  family  dinner  party." 

"And  afterwards?" 

She  smiled. 

"Would  you  like,"  she  asked,  "to  take  me  out  to 
dinner?" 

"Would  I  like!" 

"Go  and  change,  and  call  for  me  in  half  an  hour. 
We  can  go  somewhere  where  we  are  not  likely  to  be 
seen,"  she  said,  softly.  "I  must  cover  myself  up  hi 
my  cloak.  Whatever  will  Perkins  say?  Please  re- 
member that  I  have  no  hat." 

He  held  her  hands  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"Don't  go  for  one  moment,"  he  pleaded.  "I  want 
to  realize  it.  I  want  to  feel  sure  of  you." 

The  gravity  of  his  manner  was  for  a  moment  re- 
flected in  her  tone. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  you  may  feel  sure. 
There  are  things  which  we  may  have  to  say  to  one 
another — presently — but ' ' 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  fingers. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  CONSCIENCE  OF  A  STATESMAN 

HE  was  shown  into  her  own  little  boudoir  by  a 
smiling  maid-servant,  who  seemed  already  to 
treat  him  with  an  especial  consideration.  The  wonder 
of  this  thing  was  still  lying  like  a  thrall  upon  him,  and 
yet  he  knew  that  the  joy  of  life  was  burning  once  more 
in  his  veins.  He  caught  sight  of  himself  in  a  mirror, 
and  he  was  amazed.  The  careworn  look  had  gone 
from  his  eyes,  the  sallowness  from  his  complexion. 
His  step  was  elastic,  he  felt  the  firm,  quick  beat  of  his 
heart,  even  his  pulses  seem  to  throb  to  a  new  and  a 
wonderful  tune.  These  moments  whilst  he  waited  for 
her  were  a  joy  to  him.  The  atmosphere  was  fragrant 
with  the  perfume  of  her  favourite  roses,  a  book  lay 
upon  the  little  inlaid  table  face  downwards  as  she  had 
left  it.  There  was  a  delicately  engraved  etching  upon 
the  wall,  which  he  recognized  as  her  work;  the  water- 
colours,  all  of  a  French  school  which  he  had  often 
praised,  were  of  her  choosing.  Perfect  though  the 
room  was  in  colouring  and  detail,  there  was  yet  a 
habitable,  almost  a  homely,  air  about  it.  Mannering 
moved  about  amidst  her  treasures  like  a  man  in  a 
dream,  only  it  was  a  dream  of  loneliness  gone  for- 
ever, of  a  grey  life  suddenly  coloured  and  transformed. 
It  was  wonderful. 

Then  the  soft  swish  of  a  skirt,  and  she  came  in. 
She  had   changed  her  gown.    She   wore  white  lace, 


138  A  LOST  LEADER 

with  a  string  of  pearls  about  her  neck.  He  looked 
eagerly  into  her  face,  and  a  great  relief  took  the  place 
of  that  single  instant  of  haunting  fear.  The  change 
was  still  there.  It  was  not  the  great  lady  who  swept 
in,  but  the  woman  who  has  found  an  answer  to  the 
one  question  of  life,  a -little  tremulous  still,  a  little  less 
self-assured.  She  looked  at  him  almost  appealingly. 
A  delicate  tinge  of  colour  lingered  in  her  cheeks.  He 
moved  quickly  forward  to  meet  her. 

"Dear!"  she  murmured. 

He  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips.    He  was  satisfied. 

"You  see  what  my  new-born  vanity  has  led  to,"  she 
declared,  smilingly.  "I  have  had  to  keep  you  waiting 
whilst  I  changed  my  gown.  I  hope  you  like  me  in 
white." 

"You  are  adorable,"  he  declared. 

She  laughed. 

"I  wonder,"  she  said,  "would  you  mind  dining  here 
alone  with  me?  It  will  be  quite  a  scratch  meal,  but 
I  thought  that  it  would  be  cosier  than  a  restaurant, 
and  afterwards — we  could  come  in  here  and  talk." 

"I  should  like  it  better  than  anything  hi  the  world," 
he  declared,  truthfully. 

"You  may  take  me  in,  then,"  she  said.  "I  hope 
that  you  are  as  hungry  as  I  am.  No,  not  that  way. 
I  have  ordered  dinner  to  be  served  hi  the  little  room 
where  I  dine  when  I  am  alone." 

To  Mannering  there  seemed  something  almost  un- 
real about  the  chaste  perfection  of  the  meal  and  its 
wonderful  service.  They  dined  at  a  small  round  table, 
so  small  that  more  than  once  their  fingers  touched  upon 
the  tablecloth.  A  single  servant  waited  upon  them, 
swiftly  and  perfectly.  The  butler  appeared  only  with 


CONSCIENCE  OF  A  STATESMAN          139 

the  wine,  which  he  served,  and  quietly  withdrew. 
Across  the  tangled  mass  of  flowers,  only  a  few  feet  away 
all  the  time,  sat  the  woman  who  had  suddenly  made 
the  world  so  beautiful  to  him.  A  murmur  of  conver- 
sation continually  flowed  between  them,  but  he  was 
never  very  sure  what  they  were  talking  about.  He 
wanted  to  sit  still,  to  feast  his  eyes,  all  his  senses, 
upon  her,  to  strive  to  realize  this  new  thing,  that  from 
henceforth  she  was  his!  And  then  suddenly  she  broke 
the  spell.  She  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  laughed 
softly. 

"I  have  just  remembered,"  she  said,  in  response  to 
his  inquiring  look,  "why  I  came  to  call  upon  you  this 
evening.  What  a  long  time  ago  it  seems." 

He  smiled. 

"And  I  never  thought  to  ask  you,"  he  remarked. 

"We  must  have  no  secrets  now,"  she  said,  with  a 
delightful  smile.  "Leslie  Borrowdean  came  to  see  me 
this  afternoon,  and  he  was  very  anxious  about  you. 
He  declared  that  you  wanted  to  postpone  your  great 
meetings  in  the  North  until  after  you  had  made  some 
independent  investigations  in  some  of  the  manufacturing 
centres.  Poor  Sir  Leslie!  You  had  frightened  him  so 
completely  that  he  was  scarcely  coherent." 

Mannering  smiled  a  little  gravely.  It  was  like  com- 
ing back  to  earth. 

"  Politics 'with  Borrowdean  are  so  much  a  matter  of 
pounds,  shillings  and  pence  that  the  bare  idea  of  his 
finding  himself  a  day  further  away  from  office  frightens 
him  to  death,"  he  said.  "We  are  all  like  the  pawns, 
to  be  moved  about  the  chessboard  of  his  life." 

Berenice  smiled. 

"He  is  certainly  a  very  self-centred  person,"  she 


140  A  LOST  LEADER 

remarked;  "but  do  you  know,  I  am  really  a  little  curi- 
ous to  know  how  you  succeeded  in  frightening  him  so 
thoroughly." 

"I  had  a  fright  myself,"  Mannering  said.  "I  was 
made  to  feel  for  an  hour  or  so  like  a  Rip  van  Win- 
kle with  the  cobwebs  hanging  about  me — Rip  van 
Winkle  looking  out  upon  a  new  world!" 

"You  a  Rip  van  Winkle!"  she  laughed.  "What 
was  it  that  man  who  wrote  in  the  Nineteenth  Century 
called  you  last  week?  'The  most  precise  and  far-seeing 
of  our  politicians.'" 

"The  men  who  write  in  reviews,"  he  murmured, 
"sometimes  display  the  most  appalling  ignorance. 
There  was  also  some  one  in  the  Saturday  Review  who 
alluded  to  me  last  week  as  a  library  politician.  My 
friend  quoted  that  against  me.  'A  man  who  essays 
to  govern  a  people  he  knows  nothing  of.'  It  was 
one  of  the  labour  party  who  wrote  it,  I  know,  but  it 
sticks." 

"You  are  not  losing  confidence  hi  yourself,  surely?" 
she  remarked,  smiling. 

"My  views  are  unchanged,  if  that  is  what  you  mean," 
he  answered.  "I  believe  I  know  what  is  good  for  the 
people,  and  when  I  am  sure  of  it  I  shall  not  be  afraid 
to  take  up  the  gauntlet.  But  I  must  be  quite  sure." 

"You  puzzle  me  a  little,"  she  admitted.  "Has  any 
one  written  more  convincingly  than  you?  Arguments 
which  are  founded  upon  logic  and  statistics  must  yield 
truth,  and  you  have  set  it  down  in  black  and  white." 

"On  the  other  hand,"  he  said,  "my  unlearned  but 
eloquent  friend  dismissed  all  statistics,  all  the  science 
of  argument  and  deduction,  with  the  wave  of  a  not 
too  scrupulously  clean  hand.  'Figures,'  he  said,  'are 


CONSCIENCE  OF  A  STATESMAN         141 

dead  things.  They  are  the  playthings  of  the  charlatan 
politician,  who,  by  a  sort  of  mental  sleight  of  hand, 
can  make  them  perform  the  most  wonderful  antics. 
If  you  desire  the  truth,  seek  it  from  live  things.  If 
you  desire  really  to  call  yourself  the  champion  of  the 
people,  come  and  see  for  yourself  how  they  are  faring. 
Figures  will  not  feed  them,  nor  statistics  keep  them 
from  the  great  despair.  Come  and  let  me  show  you 
the  smews  of  the  country,  whether  they  are  sound  or 
rotten.  You  cannot  see  them  through  your  library 
walls.  It  is  only  the  echo  of  then*  voice  which  you 
hear  so  far  off.  If  you  would  really  be  the  people's 
man,  come  and  learn  something  of  the  people  from 
their  own  lips.'  This  is  what  my  friend  said  to  me." 

"And  who,"  she  asked,  "was  this  prophet  who  came 
to  you  and  talked  like  this?" 

"A  retired  bookmaker,"  he  answered.  "I  will  tell 
you  of  our  meeting." 

She  listened  gravely.  After  he  had  finished  there 
was  a  short  silence.  The  dessert  was  on  the  table, 
and  they  were  alone.  Berenice  was  looking  thoughtful. 

"Tell  me,"  he  begged,  "exactly  what  that  wrinkled 
forehead  means?" 

"I  was  wondering,"  she  said,  "whether  Sir  Leslie 
was  right,  when  he  said  that  you  had  too  much 
conscience  ever  to  be  a  great  politician." 

"It  mirrors  Borrowdean's  outlook  upon  politics  pre- 
cisely," he  remarked. 

She  smiled  at  him  with  a  sudden  radiance.  She 
had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  with  a  quick,  graceful  move- 
ment leaned  over  him.  This  new  womanliness  which 
he  had  found  so  irresistible  was  alight  once  more  in 
her  face.  Her  eyes  sought  his  fondly,  she  touched 


142  A  LOST  LEADER 

his  lips  with  hers.  The  perfume  of  her  clothes,  the 
touch  of  her  hair  upon  his  cheek,  were  like  a  drug. 
He  had  no  more  words. 

"You  may  have  one  peach  and  one  glass  of  the 
Prince's  Burgundy,  and  then  you  must  come  and  look 
for  me,"  she  said.  "We  have  wasted  too  much  time 
talking  of  other  things.  You  haven't  even  told  me 
yet  what  I  have  a  right  to  hear,  you  know.  I  want 
to  be  told  that  you  care  for  me  better  than  anything 
else  in  the  world." 

He  caught  her  hands.  There  was  a  rare  passion 
vibrating  in  his  tone. 

"You  do  not  doubt  it,  Berenice?" 

"Perhaps  not,"  she  answered,  "but  I  want  to  be 
told.  I  am  a  middle-aged  woman,  you  know,  Law- 
rence, but  I  want  to  be  made  love  to  as  though  I 
were  a  silly  girl!  Isn't  that  foolish?  But  you  must 
do  it,"  she  whispered,  with  her  lips  very  close  to  his. 

He  drew  her  into  his  arms. 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  enough 
courage  to  make  love  to  a  Duchess!" 

"Then  you  can  remember  only  that  I  am  a  woman," 
she  whispered,  "very,  very,  very  much  a  woman,  and 
—I'm  afraid — a  woman  shockingly  in  love!" 

She  disengaged  herself  suddenly,  and  was  at  the 
door  before  he  could  reach  it.  She  looked  back.  Her 
cheeks  were  flushed.  There  was  even  a  faint  tinge 
of  pink  underneath  the  creamy  white  of  her  slender, 
stately  neck. 

"Don't  dare,"  she  said,  "to  be  more  than  five 
minutes!" 

Mannering  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  wine,  and 
sat  quite  still  with  his  head  between  his  hands.  He 


CONSCIENCE  OF  A  STATESMAN         143 

wanted  to  realize  this  thing  if  he  could.  The  grind- 
ing of  the  great  wheels  fell  no  more  upon  his  ears. 
He  looked  into  a  new  world,  so  different  from  the  old 
that  he  was  almost  afraid. 

And  in  her    room,   Berenice  waited  for    him  im- 
patiently. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A   BLOW   FOR   BORROWDEAN 

THERE  was  a  somewhat  unusual  alertness  in 
Borrowdean's  manner  as  he  passed  out  from 
the  little  house  in  Sloane  Gardens  and  summoned  a 
passing  hansom.  He  drove  to  the  corner  of  Hyde 
Park,  and  dismissing  the  cab  strolled  along  the  broad 
walk. 

The  many  acquaintances  whom  he  passed  and  re- 
passed  he  greeted  with  a  certain  amount  of  abstrac- 
tion. All  the  tune  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  road. 
He  was  waiting  to  catch  sight  of  some  familiar  liveries. 
When  at  last  they  came  he  contrived  to  stop  the  car- 
riage and  hastily  threaded  his  way  to  the  side  of  the 
barouche. 

Berenice  was  looking  radiantly  beautiful.  The  ex- 
quisite simplicity  of  her  white  muslin  gown  and  large 
hat  of  black  feathers,  the  slight  flush  with  which  she 
received  him,  as  though  she  carried  about  with  her  a 
secret  which  she  expected  every  one  to  read,  the  ex- 
tinction of  that  air  of  listlessness  which  had  robbed 
her  for  some  time  of  a  certain  share  of  her  good  looks — 
of  all  these  things  Borrowdean  made  quick  note.  His 
face  grew  graver  as  he  accepted  her  not  very  enthu- 
siastic invitation  and  occupied  the  back  seat  of  the 
carriage.  For  the  first  time  he  admitted  to  himself 
the  possibility  of  failure  in  his  carefully  laid  plans. 
He  recognized  the  fact  that  there  were  forces  at  work 


A  BLOW  FOR  BORROWDEAN  145 

against  which  he  had  no  weapon  ready.  He  had 
believed  that  Berenice  was  attracted  by  Mannering's 
personality  and  genius.  He  had  never  seriously  con- 
sidered the  question  of  her  feelings  becoming  more 
deeply  involved.  So  many  men  had  paid  vain  court 
to  her.  She  had  a  wonderful  reputation  for  inaccessi- 
bility. And  yet  he  remembered  her  manner  when  he 
had  paid  his  first  unexpected  visit  to  Blakely.  It 
should  have  been  a  lesson  to  him.  How  far  had  the 
mischief  gone,  he  wondered! 

"So  Mannering  has  gone  North,"  he  remarked, 
noticing  that  she  avoided  the  subject. 

She  nodded.  Her  parasol  drooped  a  little  his  way, 
and  he  wondered  whether  it  was  because  she  desired 
her  face  hidden. 

''You  saw  him?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "He  explained  how  he  felt 
to  me." 

"And  you  could  not  dissuade  him?" 

"I  did  not  try,"  she  answered,  simply.  "Lawrence 
Mannering  is  not  a  man  of  ordinary  disposition,  you 
know.  He  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was 
right  for  him  to  go,  and  opposition  would  only  have 
made  him  the  more  determined.  I  cannot  see  that 
there  is  any  harm  likely  to  come  of  it." 

"I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Borrowdean  answered, 
seriously.  "Mannering  is  au  fond  a  man  of  sentiment. 
There  is  no  clearer  thinker  or  speaker  when  his  judg- 
ment is  unbiassed,  but  on  the  other  hand,  the  man's 
nature  is  sensitive  and  complex.  He  has  a  sort  of 
maudlin  self-consciousness  which  is  as  dangerous  a 
thing  as  the  nonconformist  conscience.  Heaven  knows 
into  whose  hands  he  may  fall  up  there." 


146  A  LOST  LEADER 

"He  is  going  incognito,"  she  remarked. 

"He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  to  escape  notice,"  Bor- 
rowdean  answered.  "He  will  be  discovered  for  certain. 
Of  course,  if  it  comes  off  all  right,  the  whole  thing  will 
be  a  feather  in  his  cap.  But  when  I  think  how  much 
we  are  dependent  upon  him,  I  don't  like  the  risk." 

"You  are  sure,"  she  remarked,  thoughtfully,  "that 
you  do  not  over-rate " 

"Mannering  himself,  perhaps,"  Borrowdean  inter- 
rupted. "There  is  no  man  whose  personal  place 
cannot  be  filled.  But  one  thing  is  very  certain. 
Mannering  is  the  only  man  who  unites  both  sides  of 
our  scattered  party,  the  only  man  under  whom  Fer- 
gusson  and  Johns  would  both  serve.  You  know  quite 
well  the  curse  which  has  rested  upon  us.  We  have 
become  a  party  of  units,  and  our  whole  effectiveness 
is  destroyed.  We  want  welding  into  one  entity.  A 
single  session,  a  single  year  of  office,  and  the  thing 
would  be  done.  We  who  do  the  mechanical  work  would 
see  that  there  was  no  breaking  away  again.  But  we 
must  have  that  year,  we  must  have  Mannering.  That 
is  why  I  watch  him  like  a  child,  and  I  must  say  that 
he  has  given  me  a  good  deal  of  anxiety  lately." 

"In  what  way?"  she  asked. 

Borrowdean  hesitated.  He  seemed  uncertain  how 
to  answer. 

"If  I  explain  what  I  mean,"  he  said,  "you  will 
understand  that  I  do  not  speak  to  you  as  a  woman 
and  an  acquaintance  of  Mannering's,  but  simply  as 
one  of  ourselves.  Mannering's  private  life  is,  of  course, 
interesting  to  me  only  as  an  index  to  his  political 
destiny,  and  my  acquaintance  with  it  arises  solely 
from  my  political  interest  in  him.  There  are  things 


147 

in  connection  with  it  which  I  feel  that  I  shall  never 
properly  be  able  to  understand." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily.  Her  cheeks  were  a 
little  whiter,  but  her  tone  was  deliberate. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  hear  anything  about  Mr.  Man- 
nering's  private  life,"  she  said.  "You  will  under- 
stand that  I  am  not  free  or  disposed  to  listen  when 
I  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  marry  him." 

This  was  perhaps  the  worst  blow  Borrowdean  had 
ever  experienced  in  the  course  of  his  whole  life.  The 
possibility  of  this  was  a  danger  which  he  had  recog- 
nized might  some  time  have  to  be  reckoned  with,  but 
for  the  present  he  had  felt  safe  enough.  He  was  taken 
so  completely  aback  that  for  a  few  moments  his  mind 
was  a  blank.  He  remained  silent. 

"You  do  not  offer  me  the  conventional  wishes," 
she  remarked,  presently. 

"They  go — from  me  to  you — as  a  matter  of  course," 
he  answered.  "To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  thought 
of  Mannering,  for  many  reasons,  as  a  marrying  man." 

"You  will  have  to  readjust  your  views  of  him,"  she 
said,  quietly,  "for  I  think  that  we  shall  be  married 
very  soon." 

Borrowdean  was  a  little  white,  and  his  teeth  had 
come  together.  Whatever  happened,  he  told  him- 
self, fiercely,  this  must  never  be.  He  felt  his  breast- 
pocket mechanically.  Yes,  the  letter  was  there.  Dare 
he  risk  it?  She  was  a  proud  woman,  she  would  be 
unforgiving  if  once  she  believed.  But  supposing  she 
found  him  out?  He  temporized. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  he  said.  "Do  you 
mind  putting  me  down  here?" 

"Why?   You  seemed  in  no  hurry  a  few  minutes  ago." 


148  A  LOST  LEADER 

"The  world,"  he  said,  "was  a  different  place  then." 

She  looked  at  him  searchingly. 

"You  had  better  tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  re- 
marked. "You  have  something  on  your  mind,  some- 
thing which  you  are  half  disposed  to  tell  me,  a  little 
more  than  half,  I  think.  Go  on." 

He  looked  at  her  as  one  might  look  at  the  magician 
who  has  achieved  the  apparently  impossible. 

"You  are  wonderful,"  he  said.  "Yes,  I  will  tell 
you  my  dilemma,  if  you  like.  I  have  just  come  from 
Sloane  Gardens!" 

Her  face  changed  instantly.  It  was  as  though  a 
mask  had  been  dropped  over  it.  Her  eyes  were  fixed, 
her  features  expressionless. 

"Well?"  she  said,  simply. 

He  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket. 

"You  may  as  well  see  it  yourself,"  he  remarked. 
"For  reasons  which  you  may  doubtless  understand, 
I  have  always  kept  on  good  terms  with  Mrs.  Philli- 
more,  and  she  was  to  have  dined  with  me  and  some 
other  friends  to-morrow  night.  Here  is  a  note  which 
I  had  from  her  yesterday.  Will  you  read  it?" 

Berenice  held  it  between  her  finger  tips.  There 
were  only  a  few  lines,  and  she  read  them  at  a  glance. 

"SLOANE  GARDENS, 

"Tuesday. 
"My  DEAR  SIR  LESLIE, 

"I  am  so  sorry,  but  I  must  scratch  for  to-morrow  night. 
L.  is  going  North  on  some  mysterious  expedition,  and  I 
am  afraid  that  he  will  want  me  to  go  with  him.  In  fact, 
he  has  already  said  so.  Ask  me  again  some  time,  won't 
you? 

"Yours  ever, 
"BLANCHE  PHILLIMORE." 


A  BLOW  FOR  BORROWDEAN  149 

Berenice  folded  up  the  letter  and  returned  it. 

"It  is  a  little  extraordinary,"  she  remarked.  "I 
am  much  obliged  to  you  for  showing  me  this.  If  you 
do  not  mind,  we  will  talk  of  something  else.  Look, 
there  is  Clara  Mannering  alone  under  the  trees.  Go 
and  talk  to  her." 

Berenice  touched  the  checkstring,  and  Borrowdean 
was  forced  to  depart.  She  smiled  upon  him  graciously 
enough,  but  she  spoke  not  another  word  about  Man- 
nering. Borrowdean  was  obliged  to  leave  her  without 
knowing  whether  he  had  lost  or  gained  the  trick. 

Clara  Mannering  received  him  not  altogether  gra- 
ciously. As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  looking  for 
some  one  else.  They  strolled  along,  talking  almost 
in  monosyllables.  Borrowdean  found  time  to  notice 
the  change  which  even  these  few  months  in  London 
had  wrought  in  her.  She  was  still  graceful  in  her 
movements,  but  a  smart  dressmaker  had  contrived  to 
make  her  a  perfect  reproduction  of  the  recognized  type 
of  the  moment.  She  had  lost  her  delicate  colouring. 
There  was  a  certain  hardness  in  her  young  face,  a 
certain  pallor  and  listlessness  in  her  movements  which 
Borrowdean  did  not  fail  to  note.  He  tried  to  lead 
the  conversation  into  more  personal  channels. 

"We  seem  to  have  met  very  little  during  the  last 
month,"  he  said.  "I  have  scarcely  had  an  oppor- 
tunity to  ask  you  whether  you  find  the  life  here  as 
pleasant  as  you  hoped,  whether  it  has  realized  your 
expectations." 

"Does  anything  ever  do  that?"  she  asked,  a  little 
flippantly.  "It  is  different,  of  course.  I  do  not  think 
that  I  should  be  willing  to  go  back  to  Blakely,  at  any 
rate." 


150  A  LOST  LEADER 

"You  have  made  a  great  many  friends,"  he  remarked. 
"I  hear  of  you  continually." 

"A  host  of  acquaintances,"  she  remarked.  "I  do 
not  think  that  I  have  materially  increased  the  circle 
of  my  friends.  I  hear  of  you  too,  Sir  Leslie,  very 
often.  It  seems  that  people  give  you  a  good  deal  of 
credit  for  inducing  my  uncle  to  come  back  into  politics." 

"I  certainly  did  my  best  to  persuade  him,"  Sir  Les- 
lie answered,  smoothly.  "If  I  had  known  how  much 
anxiety  he  was  going  to  cause  us  I  might  perhaps 
have  been  a  little  less  keen." 

"Anxiety!"  she  repeated. 

"Yes!     Do  you  know  where  he  is  now?" 

"I  have  no  idea,"  Clara  answered.  "All  that  I  do 
know  is  that  he  has  gone  away  for  three  weeks,  and 
that  I  am  going  to  stay  with  the  Duchess  till  he  comes 
back.  It  is  very  nice  of  her,  and  all  that,  of  course, 
but  I  feel  rather  as  though  I  were  going  into  prison. 
The  Duchess  isn't  exactly  the  modern  sort  of  chaperon." 

Borrowdean  nodded  sympathetically. 

"And  consider  my  anxiety,"  he  remarked.  "Your 
uncle  has  gone  North  to  consider  the  true  position  of 
the  labouring  classes.  Now  Mr.  Mannering  is  a  brilliant 
politician  and  a  sound  thinker,  but  he  is  also  a  man  of 
sentiment.  They  will  drug  him  with  it  up  there.  He 
will  probably  come  back  with  half  a  dozen  new  schemes, 
and  we  don't  want  them,  you  know.  He  ought  to  be 
speaking  at  Glasgow  and  Leeds  this  week.  He  simply 
ignores  his  responsibilities.  He  yields  to  a  sudden  whim 
and  leaves  us  plantes  la." 

She  seemed  scarcely  to  have  heard  the  conclusion 
of  his  sentence.  Her  attention  was  fixed  upon  a  group 
of  men  who  were  talking  near. 


A  BLOW  FOR  BORROWDEAN  151 

"Do  you  know — isn't  that  Major  Bristow?"  she  asked 
Borrowdean,  abruptly. 

Borrowdean  put  up  his  glass. 

"Looks  like  him,"  he  admitted. 

"I  should  be  so  much  obliged,"  she  said,  "if  you 
would  tell  him  that  I  wish  to  see  him.  I  have  a  mes- 
sage for  his  sister,"  she  concluded,  a  little  lamely. 

Borrowdean  did  as  he  was  asked.  He  noticed  the 
slight  impatience  of  the  man  as  he  delivered  his 
message,  and  the  flush  with  which  she  greeted  him. 
Then,  with  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  he  pursued 
his  way. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  PAGE  FROM  THE  PAST 

SHE  swept  into  the  room,  humming  a  light  opera 
tune,  bringing  with  her  the  usual  flood  of  per- 
fumes, suggestion  of  cosmetics,  a  vivid  apparition  of 
the  artificial.  Her  skirts  rustled  aggressively,  her  voice 
was  just  one  degree  too  loud.  Mannering  rose  to  his 
feet  a  little  wearily. 

She  looked  at  him  with  raised  eyebrows. 

"Heavens!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  have  you  been 
doing  with  yourself,  Lawrence?  You  look  like  a 
ghost!" 

"I  am  quite  well,"  he  answered,  calmly. 

"Then  you  don't  look  it,"  she  answered,  bluntly. 
"Where  have  you  been  for  the  last  few  weeks?" 

"Up  in  the  North,"  he  answered.  "It  was  very 
hot,  and  I  had  a  great  deal  to  do.  I  suppose  I  am 
suffering,  like  the  rest  of  us,  from  a  little  overwork." 

She  spread  herself  out  hi  a  chair  opposite  to  him. 

"Don't  stand,"  she  said;  "you  fidget  me.  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

"So  I  gathered  from  your  note,'.'  he  remarked. 

"You  haven't  hurried." 

"I  only  got  back  to  London  last  night,"  he  answered. 
"I  could  scarcely  come  sooner,  could  I?" 

"I  suppose  not,"  she  admitted. 

Then  for  a  moment  or  two  she  was  silent.  She  was 
watching  him  a  little  curiously. 


A  PAGE  FROM  THE  PAST  153 

"Is  this  true?"  she  asked,  "this  rumour?" 

"Won't  you  be  a  little  more  explicit?"  he  begged. 

"They  say  that  you  are  going  to  marry  the  Duchess 
of  Lenchester!" 

"It  is  true,"  he  answered. 

She  leaned  forward.  Her  clasped  hands  rested  upon 
her  knee.  She  seemed  to  be  examining  the  tip  of  her 
patent  shoe.  Suddenly  she  looked  up  at  him. 

"You  ought  to  have  come  and  told  me  yourself!" 
she  said. 

"I  had  no  opportunity,"  he  reminded  her.  "I  left 
London  the  morning  after — it  happened — and  I  re- 
turned last  night." 

"Political  business?"  she  asked. 

"Entirely." 

"Lawrence,"  she  said,  "I  don't  like  it." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "Has  mine  been  such  a 
successful  life,  do  you  think,  that  you  need  grudge 
me  a  little  happiness  towards  its  close?" 

"Bosh!"  she  answered.  "You  are  only  forty-six. 
You  are  a  young  man  still." 

"I  had  forgotten  my  years,"  he  declared.  "I  only 
know  that  I  am  tired." 

"You  look  it,"  she  remarked.  "I  must  say  that 
there  is  very  little  of  the  triumphant  suitor  about 
you.  You  work  too  hard,  Lawrence." 

"If  I  do,"  he  asked,  with  a  note  of  fierceness  in  his 
tone,  "  whose  fault  is  it?  I  was  almost  happy  at 
Blakely.  I  had  almost  learned  to  forget.  It  was  you 
who  dragged  me  out  again.  You  were  not  satisfied  with 
half  of  my  income;  you  were  always  in  debt,  always 
wanting  more  money.  Then  Borrowdean  made  use 
pf  you.  He  wanted  me  back  into  politics,  you  wanted 


154  A  LOST  LEADER 

more  money  for  your  follies  and  extravagances.  Back 
I  had  to  come  into  harness.  Blanche,  I've  tried  to 
do  my  duty  to  you,  but  there  is  a  limit.  I  owed  you 
a  comfortable  place  in  life,  and  I  have  tried  to  see  that 
you  have  it.  I  have  never  refused  anything  you  have 
asked  me,  I  have  never  mentioned  the  sacrifices  which 
I  have  been  forced  to  make.  But  there  is  a  limit.  I 
draw  it  here.  I  will  not  suffer  any  interference  between 
the  Duchess  of  Lenchester  and  myself!" 

Blanche  Phillimore  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  He  was 
used  to  her  fits  of  passion,  but  there  was  no  sign  of 
anything  of  the  sort  hi  her  face.  She  was  agitated, 
but  hi  some  new  way.  Her  words  were  an  attack, 
but  her  manner  suggested  rather  an  appeal.  Her 
large,  fine  eyes,  her  one  perfectly  natural  feature,  were 
soft  and  luminous.  They  seemed  somehow  to  trans- 
figure her  face.  To  him  it  seemed  like  the  foolish, 
handsome  woman  of  fifteen  years  ago  who  had  sud- 
denly come  to  life  again. 

"You  owed  me — a  comfortable  place  in  life,  Law- 
rence! Thank — you.  You  have  paid  the  debt  very 
well.  You  owed  me — a  respectable  guardianship; 
you  paid  that,  too.  Thank  you  again.  Now  tell  me, 
do  you  owe  me  nothing  else?" 

"I  owed  you  one  debt,"  he  said,  gravely,  "which 
neither  I  nor  any  other  man  who  incurs  it  can  ever 
discharge." 

"I  am  glad  you  realize  it,"  she  answered.  "But 
have  you  ever  tried  to  discharge  it?  You  have  given 
me  a  home  and  money  to  throw  away  on  any  folly 
which  could  kill  thought.  What  about  the  rest?" 

"Blanche,"  he  said,  gravely,  "the  rest  was  impossi- 
ble! You  know  that  as  well  as  I  do." 


A  PAGE  FROM  THE  PAST  155 

"It  is  fifteen  years  ago,  Lawrence,"  she  said,  "and 
all  that  time  we  have  fenced  with  our  words.  Now  I 
am  going  to  speak  a  little  more  plainly.  You  robbed 
me  of  my  husband.  The  fault  may  not  have  been 
wholly  yours,  but  the  fact  remains.  You  struck  him, 
and  he  died.  I  was  left  alone!" 

Mannering's  face  was  ashen.  The  whole  horrible 
scene  was  rising  up  again  before  him.  He  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands.  It  was  more  distinct  than 
ever.  He  saw  the  man's  flushed  face,  heard  his  stream 
of  abuse,  felt  the  sting  of  his  blow,  the  hot  anger  with 
which  he  had  struck  back.  Then  those  few  awful 
moments  of  suspense,  the  moment  afterwards  when 
they  had  looked  at  one  another.  He  shivered!  Why 
had  she  let  loose  this  flood  of  memories?  She  was 
speaking  to  him  again. 

"I  was  left  alone,"  she  repeated,  quietly,  "and  I 
have  been  alone  ever  since.  You  don't  know  much 
about  women,  Lawrence.  You  never  did!  Try  and 
realize,  though,  what  that  must  mean  to  a  woman 
like  myself,  not  strong,  not  clever,  with  very  few 
resources — just  a  woman.  I  cared  for  my  husband, 
I  suppose,  in  an  average  sort  of  way.  At  any  rate 
he  loved  me.  Then — there  was  you.  Oh,  you  never 
made  love  to  me,  of  course.  You  were  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  make  love  to  another  man's  wife.  But 
you  used  to  show  that  you  liked  to  be  with  me,  Law- 
rence. Your  voice  and  your  eyes  and  your  whole 
manner  used  to  tell  me  that.  Then  there  came — that 
hideous  day!  I  lost  you  both.  What  have  I  had  since, 
Lawrence?" 

"Very  little,  I  am  afraid,  worth  having." 

"'Very  little — worth  having'!"    She  flung  the  words 


156  A  LOST  LEADER 

from  her  with  passionate  scorn.  "I  had  your  alms, 
your  cold,  hurried  visits,  when  you  seemed  to  shiver 
if  our  fingers  touched.  It  would  have  seemed  to  you, 
I  suppose,  a  terrible  sin  to  have  touched  the  lips  of  the 
woman  whom  you  had  helped  to  rob  of  her  husband, 
to  have  spoken  kindly  to  her,  to  have  given  her  at 
least  a  little  affection  to  warm  her  heart.  Poor  me! 
What  a  hell  you  made  of  my  days,  with  your  selfish 
model  life,  your  panderings  to  conscience.  I  didn't 
want  much,  you  know,  Lawrence,"  she  said,  with  a 
sudden  choking  hi  her  voice.  "I  would  never  have 
robbed  you  of  your  peace  of  mind.  All  I  wanted  was 
kindness.  And  I  think,  Lawrence,  that  it  was  a  debt, 
but  you  never  paid  it." 

Mannering  had  a  moment  of  self-revelation,  a  terri- 
ble, lurid  moment.  Every  word  that  she  had  said 
was  true. 

"You  have  never  spoken  to  me  like  this  before,"  he 
reminded  her,  desperately.  "I  never  knew  that  you 
cared." 

"Don't  lie!"  she  answered,  calmly.  "You  turned 
your  head  away  that  you  might  not  see.  In  your 
heart  you  knew  very  well.  What  else,  do  you  think, 
made  me,  a  very  ordinary,  nervous  sort  of  woman, 
get  you  out  of  the  house  that  day,  tell  my  story,  the 
story  that  shielded  you,  without  faltering,  put  even 
the  words  into  your  own  mouth?  It  was  because  I 
was  fool  enough  to  care!  And  oh,  my  God,  how  you 
have  tortured  me  since!  You  would  sit  there,  coldly 
censorious,  and  reason  with  me  about  my  friends, 
my  manner  of  life.  I  knew  what  you  thought.  You 
didn't  hide  it  very  well.  Lawrence,  I  wonder  I  didn't 
kill  you!" 


A  PAGE  FROM  THE  PAST  157 

"I  wish  that  you  had,"  he  said,  bitterly. 

She  nodded. 

"Oh,  I  know  how  you  are  feeling  just  now,"  she 
said.  "Truth  strikes  home,  you  know,  and  it  hurts 
just  a  little,  doesn't  it?  In  a  few  days  your  admirable 
common  sense  will  prevail.  You  will  say  to  yourself: 
'She  was  that  sort  of  woman,  she  had  that  sort  of 
disposition,  she  was  bound  to  go  to  the  dogs,  any- 
way!' So  you  are  going  to  marry  the  Duchess  of 
Lenchester,  Lawrence!" 

He  stood  up. 

"Blanche,"  he  said,  "that  was  all  a  mistake.  I 
didn't  understand.  Let  us  forget  that  day  altogether. 
Marry  me  now,  and  I  will  try  to  make  up  for  these 
past  years." 

She  stared  at  him  blankly.  The  colour  hi  her  cheek 
was  like  a  lurid  patch  under  the  pallor  of  her  skin. 
She  gave  a  little  gasp,  and  her  hand  went  to  her 
side.  Then  she  laughed  hardly,  almost  offensively. 

"What  a  man  of  sentiment,"  she  declared.  "After 
fifteen  years,  too,  and  only  just  engaged  to  another 
woman!  No,  thank  you,  my  dear  Lawrence.  I've 
lived  my  life,  such  as  it  has  been.  I'm  not  so  very 
old,  but  I  look  fifty,  and  I've  vices  enough  to  blacken 
an  entire  neighbourhood.  Fancy,  if  people  saw  me, 
and  heard  that  you  might  have  married  the  Duchess 
of  Lenchester.  They'd  hint  at  an  asylum." 

"Never  mind  about  other  people,"  he  said.  "Give 
me  a  chance,  Blanche,  to  show  that  I'm  not  such  an 
absolute  brute." 

"Rubbish,"  she  interrupted.  "Fifteen  years  ago 
I  would  have  married  you.  In  fact,  I  expected  to. 
The  reason  why  I  found  the  courage  to  shield  you  from 


158  A  LOST  LEADER 

any  unpleasantness  that  awful  day  was  because  I  knew 
if  trouble  came  and  there  was  any  scandal  you  would 
feel  yourself  obliged  to  marry  me,  and  I  wanted  you 
to  marry  me — because  you  wanted  to.  What  an  idiot 
I  was!  Now,  please  go  away,  Lawrence.  Marry  the 
Duchess,  if  you  like,  but  don't  worry  me  with  your 
re-awakened  conscience.  I'm  going  my  own  way  for 
the  rest  of  my  few  years,  and  the  less  I  see  of  you  the 
better  I  shall  be  pleased.  You  will  forgive  me — but  I 
have  an  engagement — down  the  river!  I  really  must 
hurry  you  off." 

Her  teeth  were  set  close  together,  the  sobs  seemed 
tangled  in  her  throat.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all  the 
longing  hi  her  life  was  concentrated  in  that  one  pas- 
sionate desire,  that  he  should  seize  her  in  his  arms 
now,  hold  her  there — tell  her  that  it  had  all  been  a 
mistake,  that  the  ugly  times  were  dreams,  that  after 
all  he  had  cared — a  little!  The  room  swam  round  with 
her,  but  she  pointed  smilingly  to  the  door,  which  her 
trim  parlour-maid  was  holding  open.  And  Mannering 
went. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    FALTERING    OF    MANNERING 

MANNERING  left  by  the  afternoon  train  for 
Hampshire,  where  he  was  to  be  the  guest  for 
a  few  days  of  the  leader  of  his  party.  He  arrived 
without  sending  word  of  his  coming,  to  find  the  whole 
of  the  house  party  absent  at  a  cricket  match.  The 
short  respite  was  altogether  welcome  to  him.  He 
changed  his  clothes  and  wandered  off  into  the  gardens. 
Here  an  hour  or  so  later  Berenice's  maid  found  him. 

"Her  Grace  would  like  to  see  you,  sir,  if  you  would 
come  to  her  sitting-room,"  the  girl  said,  with  a  demure 
smile. 

Mannering,  with  something  of  an  inward  groan, 
followed  her.  Berenice,  very  slim  and  stately  in  her 
simple  white  muslin  gown,  rose  from  the  couch  as  he 
entered,  and  held  out  her  hands. 

"At  last,"  she  murmured.  "You  provoking  man, 
to  stay  away  so  long.  And  what  have  you  been 
doing  with  yourself?" 

Her  sentence  concluded  with  a  little  note  of  dis- 
may. Mannering  was  positively  haggard  in  the  clear 
afternoon  light.  There  were  lines  underneath  his 
eyes,  and  his  face  had  a  tense,  drawn  appearance.  He 
did  not  kiss  her,  as  she  had  more  than  half  expected. 
He  held  her  hands  for  a  moment,  and  then  sank  down 
upon  the  couch  by  her  side. 

"It  was  not  exactly  easy  work — up  there,"  he  said. 


160  A  LOST  LEADER 

She  noticed  the  repression. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  begged. 

His  thoughts  surged  back  to  those  three  weeks  of 
tragedy.  His  personal  misery  became  for  the  moment 
a  shadowy  thing.  The  sorrows  of  one  man,  what  were 
they  to  the  breaking  hearts  of  millions?  He  thought 
of  the  children,  and  he  shuddered. 

"It  isn't  so  much  to  tell,"  he  said.  "I  have  been 
to  a  dozen  or  so  of  the  largest  towns  in  the  North,  and 
have  taken  the  manufacturers  one  by  one.  I  have 
taken  their  wage  sheets  and  compared  them  with  past 
years.  The  result  was  always  the  same.  Less  money 
distributed  amongst  more  people.  Afterwards  we 
went  amongst  the  people  themselves — to  see  how  they 
lived.  It  was  like  a  chapter  from  the  inferno — an 
epic  of  loathsome  tragedy.  I  have  seen  the  children, 
Berenice,  and  God  help  the  next  generation." 

"You  must  not  forget,  Lawrence,"  she  said,  "that 
character  is  an  essential  factor  in  poverty.  Poverty 
there  must  always  be,  because  of  the  idle  and  shiftless." 

"Individual  poverty,  yes,"  he  answered.  "Not 
wholesale  poverty,  not  streets  of  it,  towns  of  it.  I 
don't  talk  about  starving  people,  although  I  saw  them 
too.  Our  vicious  charitable  system  may  keep  their 
cry  from  our  ears,  but  my  sympathies  go  out  to  the 
man  who  ought  to  be  earning  two  pounds  a  week,  and 
who  is  earning  fifteen  shillings;  the  man  who  used  to 
have  his  bit  of  garden,  and  smoke,  and  Sunday  clothes, 
and  a  day  or  so's  holiday  now  and  then.  He  was  a 
contented,  decent,  God-fearing  citizen,  the  backbone 
of  the  whole  nation,  and  he  has  been  blotted  away 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  They  work  now  passively, 
like  dumb  brutes,  to  resist  starvation,  and  human 


FALTERING  OF  MANNERING  161 

character  isn't  strong  enough  for  such  a  strain.  The 
public  houses  thrive,  and  the  pawnshops  are  full.  But 
the  children  haven't  enough  to  eat.  They  are  growing 
up  lank,  white,  prematurely  aged,  the  spectres  to  dance 
us  statesmen  down  into  hell." 

"You  are  overwrought,  dear,"  she  said,  gently. 
"You  have  been  in  the  hands  of  a  man  whose 
object  it  was  to  show  you  only  one  side  of  all  this." 

"I  have  sought  for  the  truth,"  Mannering  answered, 
"and  I  have  seen  it.  I  have  learned  more  in  three 
weeks  than  all  the  Commissions  and  statistics  and 
Board-of-Trade  figures  have  taught  me  in  five  years." 

"And  yet,"  she  said,  thoughtfully,  "you  hesitated 
about  that  last  Navy  vote.  Don't  you  see  that  the 
imperialism  which  you  are  a  little  disposed  to  shrug 
your  shoulders  at  is  the  most  logical  and  complete  cure 
for  all  this?  We  must  extend  and  maintain  our  colo- 
nies, and  people  them  with  our  surplus  population." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"That  is  not  a  policy  which  would  ever  appeal  to 
me,"  he  answered.  "It  is  like  an  external  operation 
to  remove  a  malady  which  is  of  internal  origin.  Either 
our  social  laws  or  our  political  systems  are  at  fault 
when  our  trade  leaves  us,  and  our  labouring  classes 
are  unable  to  earn  a  fair  wage.  That  is  the  position 
we  are  in  to-day." 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  walked  restlessly  up  and 
down  the  room.  Mannering  had  the  look  of  a  crushed 
man.  She  watched  him  critically.  Writers  in  maga- 
zines and  reviews  had  often  made  a  study  of  his 
character.  She  remembered  a  brilliant  contributor  to 
a  recent  review,  who  had  dwelt  upon  a  certain  lack  of 
cohesion  in  his  constitution,  an  inability  to  relegate 


162  A  LOST  LEADER 

sentiment  to  its  proper  place  in  dealing  with  the  great 
workaday  problems  of  the  world.  Conscientious,  but 
never  to  be  trusted,  was  the  last  anomalous  but  lumi- 
nous criticism.  Was  this  frame  of  mind  of  his  a  sign 
of  it,  she  wondered?  His  place  hi  politics  was  fixed 
and  sure.  What  right  had  he,  as  a  man  of  principle, 
with  a  great  following,  to  run  even  the  risk  of  being 
led  away  by  false  prophets?  A  certain  hardness  stole 
into  her  face  as  she  watched  him.  She  tried  to  steel 
herself  against  the  sight  of  his  suffering,  and  though 
she  was  not  wholly  successful,  there  was  a  distinct 
change  hi  her  tone  and  attitude  towards  him  as  she 
resumed  her  seat. 

I     "Tell  me,"  she  asked,  "what  this  means  from  a  prac- 
tical point  of  view?     How  will  it  effect  your  plans?" 

"I  must  give  up  my  public  meetings,"  he  answered, 
slowly.    "I  have  written  to  Manningham  to  tell  him 
that  he  must  get  some  one  else  to  lead  the  campaign." 
i     Berenice  was  very  pale.    So  many  of  these  wonder- 
ful dreams  of  hers  seemed  vanishing  into  thin  air. 

"This  is  a  terrible  blow,"  she  said.  "It  is  the  worst 
thing  which  has  happened  to  us  for  years.  Are  you 
going  over  to  the  other  side,  Lawrence?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  do  that  altogether,"  he  said.  "The  posi- 
tion is  simply  this:  I  am  still,  so  far  as  my  judgment 
and  research  go,  opposed  to  tariff  reform.  On  the 
other  hand,  I  dare  not  take  any  leading  part  in  fighting 
any  scheme  which  has  the  barest  chance  of  bringing 
better  times  to  the  working  classes.  I  simply  stand 
apart  for  the  moment  on  this  question." 

She  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 

"There  is  no  other  question,"  she  said.    "You  will 


FALTERING  OF  MANNERING  163 

never  be  allowed  to  remain  neutral.  You  appear  to 
me  to  be  in  a  very  singular  position.  You  are  divided 
between  sentiment  and  conviction,  and  you  prefer  to 
yield  to  the  former.  Lawrence,  do  not  be  hasty! 
Think  of  all  that  depends  upon  your  judgment  in  this 
matter.  From  the  very  first  you  have  been  the  bit- 
terest and  most  formidable  opponent  of  this  absurd 
scheme.  If  you  turn  round  you  will  unsettle  public 
opinion  throughout  the  country.  Remember,  the  power 
of  the  statesman  is  almost  a  sacred  charge." 

"I  am  remembering,"  he  murmured,  "those  children. 
I  am  bound  to  think  this  matter  out,  Berenice.  I  am 
going  to  meet  Graham  and  Mellors  next  week.  I  shall 
not  rest  until  I  have  made  some  effort  to  put  my  hand 
upon  the  weak  spot.  Somewhere  there  is  a  rotten 
place.  I  want  to  reach  it." 

"Do  you  mean  to  give  up  your  seat?"  she  asked. 

"Not  unless  I  am  asked  to,"  he  answered.  "I  may 
need  to  work  from  there." 

She  sighed. 

"I  suppose  your  mind  is  quite  made  up,"  she  said. 

"Absolutely,"  he  answered. 

Her  maid  came  in  just  then,  and  Mannering  offered 
to  withdraw.  She  made  no  effort  to  detain  him,  and 
he  went  at  once  in  search  of  his  host  and  hostess.  He 
found  every  one  assembled  in  the  hall  below.  Lord 
Redford,  Borrowclean,  and  the  chief  whip  of  his  party 
were  talking  together  in  a  corner,  and  from  their 
significant  look  at  his  approach,  he  felt  sure  that  he 
himself  had  been  the  subject  of  their  conversation. 
The  situation  was  more  than  a  little  awkward.  Lord 
Redford  stepped  forward  and  welcomed  him  cordially. 

"I'm    afraid    you've    been    knocking    yourself    up, 


164  A  LOST  LEADER 

Mannering,"  he  said.  "I've  just  been  proposing  to 
Culthorpe  here  that  we  bar  politics  completely  for 
twenty-four  hours.  We'll  leave  the  dinner  table  with 
the  ladies,  and  you  and  I  will  play  golf  to-morrow. 
I've  had  Taylor  down  here,  and  I  can  assure  you 
that  my  links  are  worth  playing  over  now.  Then  on 
Thursday  we'll  have  a  conference." 

"I  was  scarcely  sure,"  Mannering  said,  with  a 
slight  smile,  "whether  I  should  be  expected  to  stay 
until  then.  Sir  Leslie  has  told  you  of  my  telegrams?'' 

"Yes,  yes,"  Lord  Redford  said,  quickly.  "We've 
postponed  the  meetings  for  the  present.  We'll  talk 
that  all  out  later  on.  You've  had  some  tea,  I  hope? 
No?  Well,  Eleanor,  you  are  a  nice  hostess,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  wife.  "Give  Mr.  Mannering  some  tea 
at  once,  and  feed  him  up  with  hot  cakes.  Come  into 
the  billiard-room  afterwards,  Mannering,  will  you? 
I've  got  a  new  table  hi  the  whiter-garden,  and  we're 
going  to  have  a  pool  before  dinner." 

Berenice  came  in  and  laid  her  hand  upon  her  host's 
arm. 

"You  need  not  worry  about  Mr.  Mannering,"  she 
declared.  "He  is  going  to  have  tea  with  me  at  that 
little  table,  and  I  am  going  to  take  him  for  a  walk  in 
the  park  afterwards." 

"So  long  as  you  feed  him  well,"  Lord  Redford  de- 
clared, with  a  little  laugh,  "and  turn  up  in  good  time 
for  dinner,  you  may  do  what  you  like.  If  you  take 
my  advice,  Berenice,  you  will  join  our  league.  We 
have  pledged  ourselves  not  to  utter  a  word  of  shop 
for  twenty-four  hours." 

"I  submit  willingly,"  Berenice  answered.  "Mr.  Man- 
nering and  I  will  find  something  else  to  talk  about." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    END    OF    A    DREAM 

"V7"OU   can  guess  why  I   brought  you  here,  per- 

•*•  haps,"  Berenice  said,  gently,  as  she  motioned 
him  to  sit  down  by  her  side.  "This  place,  more  than 
any  other  I  know,  certainly  more  than  any  other  at 
Bayleigh,  seems  to  me  to  be  completely  restful.  There 
are  the  trees,  you  see,  and  the  water,  and  the  swans, 
that  are  certainly  the  laziest  creatures  I  know.  You 
look  to  me  as  though  you  needed  rest,  Lawrence." 

"I  suppose  I  do,"  he  answered,  slowly.  "I  am  not 
sure,  though,  whether  I  deserve  it." 

"You  are  rather  a  self-distrustful  mortal,"  she  re- 
marked, leaning  back  in  her  corner  and  looking  at 
him  from  under  her  parasol.  "You  have  worked 
hard  all  the  session,  and  now  you  have  finished  up 
by  three  weeks  of,  I  should  think,  herculean  labour. 
If  you  do  not  deserve  rest  who  does?" 

"The  rest  which  I  deserve,  '  Mannering  answered, 
bitterly,  "is  the  rest  of  those  whose  bones  are  bleach- 
ing amongst  the  caves  and  corals  of  the  sea  there! 
That  is  Matapan  Point,  isn't  it,  where  the  hidden 
rocks  are?" 

She  nodded. 

"Really,  you  are  developing  into  a  very  gloomy 
person,"  she  said.  "Lawrence,  don't  let  us  fence  with 
one  another  any  longer.  What  you  may  decide  to 
do  politically  may  be  ruinous  to  your  career,  to  your 


166  A  LOST  LEADER 

chance  of  usefulness  in  the  world,  and  to  my  hopes. 
But  I  want  you  to  understand  this.  It  can  make  no 
difference  to  me.  I  have  had  dreams  perhaps  of  a 
great  future,  of  being  the  wife  of  a  Prime  Minister 
who  would  lead  his  country  into  a  new  era  of  pros- 
perity, who  would  put  the  last  rivets  into  the  bonds 
of  a  great  imperial  empire.  But  one  never  realizes 
all  one's  hopes,  Lawrence.  I  love  politics.  I  love 
being  behind  the  scenes,  and  helping  to  move  the 
pawns  across  the  board.  But  I  am  a  woman,  too, 
Lawrence,  and  I  love  you.  Put  everything  connected 
with  your  public  life  on  one  side.  Let  me  ask  you 
this.  You  are  changed.  Has  anything  come  between 
us  as  man  and  woman?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "something  has  come  between 
us." 

She  sat  quite  still  for  several  minutes.  She  prayed 
that  he  too  might  keep  silence,  and  he  seemed  to  know 
her  thoughts.  Over  the  little  sheet  of  ornamental 
water,  down  the  glade  of  beech  and  elm  trees  narrow- 
ing towards  the  cliffs,  her  eyes  travelled  seawards.  It 
was  to  her  a  terrible  moment.  Mannering  had  repre- 
sented so  much  to  her,  and  her  standard  was  a  high 
one.  If  there  was  a  man  living  whom  she  would  have 
reckoned  above  the  weaknesses  of  the  herd,  it  was  he. 
In  those  days  at  Blakely  she  had  almost  idealized 
him.  The  simple  purity  of  his  life  there,  his  delicate 
and  carefully  chosen  pleasures,  combined  with  his  al- 
most passionate  love  of  the  open  places  of  the  earth, 
had  led  her  to  regard  him  as  something  different 
from  any  other  man  whom  she  had  ever  known.  All 
Borrowdean's  hints  and  open  statements  had  gone 
for  very  little.  She  had  listened  and  retained  her  trust. 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  167 

And  now  she  had  a  horrible  fear.  Something  had 
gone  out  of  the  man,  something  which  went  for 
strength,  something  without  which  he  seemed  to  lack 
that  splendid  militant  vitality  which  had  always  seemed 
to  her  so  admirable.  Perhaps  he  was  going  to  make  a 
confession,  one  of  those  crude,  clumsy  confessions  of 
a  stained  life,  which  have  drawn  the  colour  and  the  joy 
from  so  many  beautiful  dreams.  She  shivered  a  little, 
but  she  inclined  her  head  to  listen. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "what  is  it?" 

"I  have  asked  another  woman  to  marry  me  only  a 
few  hours  ago,"  he  said,  quietly. 

Berenice  was  a  proud  woman,  and  for  the  moment 
she  felt  her  love  for  this  man  a  dried-up  and  shrivelled 
thing.  She  was  white  to  the  lips,  but  she  commanded 
her  voice,  and  her  eyes  met  his  coldly. 

"May  I  inquire  into  the  circumstances — of  this — 
somewhat  remarkable  proceeding?"  she  inquired. 

"There  is  a  woman,"  he  said,  "whose  life  I  helped 
to  wreck — not  in  the  orthodox  way,"  he  added,  with 
a  note  of  scorn  in  his  tone,  "but  none  the  less  effectu- 
ally. The  one  recompense  I  never  thought  of  offering 
her  was  marriage  I  have  seen  that,  despite  all  my 
efforts  to  aid  her,  her  life  has  been  a  failure.  Her 
friends  have  been  the  wrong  sort  of  friends,  her  life 
the  wrong  sort  of  Me.  What  it  was  that  was  dragging 
her  downwards  I  never  guessed,  for  she,  too,  in  her 
way,  was  a  proud  woman.  To-day  she  sent  for  me. 
What  passed  between  us  is  her  secret  as  much  as  mine. 
I  can  only  tell  you  that  before  I  left  I  had  asked  her 
to  marry  me." 

"I  think,"  she  said,  calmly,  "that  you  need  tell 
me  no  more." 


168  A  LOST  LEADER 

"There  is  very  little  more  that  I  can  tell  you,"  he 
answered.  "I  have  no  affection  for  her,  and  she  has 
refused  to  marry  me.  But  she  remains — between  us 
— irrevocably!" 

"You  are  lucidity  itself,"  she  replied.  "Will  you 
forgive  me  if  I  leave  you?  I  am  scarcely  used  to  this 
sort  of  situation,  and  I  should  like  to  be  alone." 

"Go  by  all  means,  Berenice,"  he  answered.  "You 
and  I  are  better  apart.  But  there  is  one  thing  which 
I  must  say  to  you,  and  you  must  hear.  What  has 
passed  between  you  and  me  is  the  epitome  of  the  love- 
making  of  my  life.  You  are  the  only  woman  whom 
I  have  desired  to  make  my  wife.  You  are  the  only 
woman  whom  I  have  loved,  and  shall  love  until  I  die. 
I  can  make  you  no  reparation,  none  is  possible!  Yet 
these  things  are  my  justification." 

Berenice  had  turned  away.  The  passionate  ring  of 
truth  in  his  tone  arrested  her  footsteps.  She  paused. 
Her  heart  was  beating  very  fast,  her  coldness  was  all 
assumed.  It  was  so  much  happiness  to  throw  away, 
if  indeed  there  was  a  chance.  She  turned  and  faced 
him,  nervous,  gaunt,  hollow-eyed,  the  wreck  of  his 
former  self.  Pity  triumphed  in  spite  of  herself.  What 
was  this  leaven  of  weakness  in  the  man,  she  wondered, 
which  had  so  suddenly  broken  him  down?  He  had 
only  to  hold  on  his  way  and  he  would  be  Prime  Minister 
in  a  year.  And  at  the  moment  of  trial  he  had  crumpled 
up  like  a  piece  of  false  metal.  A  wave  of  false  senti- 
ment, a  maniacal  hyper-conscientiousness,  had  been 
sufficient  to  sap  the  very  strength  from  his  bones. 
And  then — there  was  this  other  woman.  Was  she  to 
let  him  go  without  an  effort?  He  might  recover  his 
sanity.  It  was  perhaps  a  mere  nervous  breakdown, 


THE  END  OF  A  DREAM  169 

which  had  made  him  the  prey  of  strange  fancies.  She 
spoke  to  him  differently.  She  spoke  once  more  as  the 
woman  who  loved  him. 

"Lawrence,"  she  said,  "you  are  telling  me  too  much, 
and  not  enough.  If  you  want  to  send  me  away  I  must 
go.  But  tell  me  this  first.  What  claim  has  this  woman 
upon  you?" 

"It  is  not  my  secret,"  he  groaned.  "I  cannot  tell 
you." 

"Leslie  Borrowdean  knows  it,"  she  said.  "I  could 
have  heard  it,  but  I  refused  to  listen.  Remember, 
whatever  you  may  owe  to  other  people  you  owe  me 
something,  too." 

"It  is  true,"  he  answered.  "Well,  listen.  I  killed 
her  husband!" 

"You!  You — killed  her  husband!"  she  repeated 
vaguely. 

"Yes!  She  shielded  me.  There  was  an  inquest, 
and  they  found  that  he  had  heart  disease.  No  one 
knew  that  I  had  even  seen  him  that  day,  no  one  save 
she  and  a  servant,  who  is  dead.  But  the  truth  lives. 
He  had  reason  to  be  angry  with  me — over  a  money 
affair.  He  came  home  furious,  and  found  me  alone 
with  his  wife.  He  called  me — well,  it  was  a  lie — and 
he  struck  me.  I  threw  him  on  one  side — and  he  fell. 
When  we  picked  him  up  he  was  dead." 

"It  was  terrible!"  she  said,  "but  you  should  have 
braved  it  out.  They  could  have  done  very  little  to 
you." 

"I  know  it,"  he  answered.  "But  I  was  young,  and 
my  career  was  just  beginning.  The  thing  stunned  me. 
She  insisted  upon  secrecy.  It  would  reflect  upon  her, 
she  thought,  if  the  truth  came  out,  so  I  acquiesced. 


170  A  LOST  LEADER 

I  left  the  house  unseen.  All  these  days  I  have  had 
to  carry  the  burden  of  this  thing  with  me.  To-day— 
seemed  to  be  the  climax.  For  the  first  time  I  under- 
stood." 

"She  can  never  marry  you,"  Berenice  said.  "It 
would  be  horrible." 

"She  refused  to  marry  me  to-day,"  he  answered, 
"but  she  laid  her  life  bare,  and  I  cannot  marry  any 
one  else." 

Berenice  was  trembling.  She  was  no  longer  ashamed 
to  show  her  agitation. 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  Lawrence,"  she  said.  "I 
am  very  sorry  for  myself.  Good-bye!" 

She  left  him,  and  Mannering  sank  back  upon  the 
seat. 


CHAPTER  XI 

BORROWDEAN   SHOWS   HIS    "HAND" 

"/~T"H)  be  plain  with  you,"  Borrowdean   remarked, 

A  "  Mannering's  defection  would  be  irremediable. 
He  alone  unites  Redford,  myself,  and — well,  to  put  it 
crudely,  let  us  say  the  Imperialistic  Liberal  Party  with 
Manningham  and  the  old-fashioned  Whigs  who  prefer 
the  ruts.  There  is  no  other  leader  possible.  Redford 
and  I  talked  till  daylight  this  morning.  Now,  can 
nothing  be  done  with  Mannering?" 

"To  be  plain  with  you,  too,  then,  Sir  Leslie," 
Berenice  answered,  "I  do  not  think  that  anything 
can  be  done  with  him.  In  his  present  frame  of  mind 
I  should  say  that  he  is  better  left  alone.  He  has 
worked  himself  up  into  a  thoroughly  sentimental  and 
nervous  state.  For  the  moment  he  has  lost  his  sense 
of  balance." 

Borrowdean  nodded. 

"Desperate  necessity,"  he  said,  "sometimes  justifies 
desperate  measures.  We  need  Mannering,  the  country 
and  our  cause  need  him.  If  argument  will  not  prevail 
there  is  one  last  alternative  left  to  us.  It  may  not  be 
such  an  alternative  as  we  should  choose,  but  beggars 
must  not  be  choosers.  I  think  that  you  will  know 
what  I  mean." 

"I  have  no  idea,"  Berenice  answered. 

"You  are  aware,"  he  continued,  "that  there  is  in 


172  A  LOST  LEADER 

Mannering's  past  history  an  episode,  the  publication 
of  which  would  entail  somewhat  serious  consequences 
to  him." 

"Well?" 

It  was  a  most  eloquent  monosyllable,  but  Borrow- 
dean  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat. 

"I  propose  that  we  make  use  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  Mannering's  attitude  is  rankly  foolish,  or  I  wou^d 
not  suggest  such  a  thing.  But  I  hold  that  we  are 
entitled,  under  the  circumstances,  to  make  use  of  any 
means  whatever  to  bring  him  to  his  senses." 

Berenice  smiled.  They  were  standing  together  upon 
a  small  hillock  hi  the  park,  watching  the  golf. 

"Charlatanism  in  politics  does  not  appeal  to  me," 
she  said,  drily.  "Any  party  that  adopted  such  means 
would  completely  alienate  my  sympathies.  No,  my 
dear  Sir  Leslie,  don't  stoop  to  such  low-down  means. 
Mannering  is  honest,  but  infatuated.  Win  him  back 
by  fan*  means,  if  you  can,  but  don't  attempt  any- 
thing of  the  sort  you  are  suggesting.  I,  too,  know  his 
history,  from  his  own  lips.  Any  one  who  tried  to  use 
it  against  him,  would  forfeit  my  friendship!" 

"Success  then  would  be  bought  too  dearly."  Borrow- 
dean  answered,  with  a  gallantry  which  it  cost  him  a 
good  deal  to  assume.  "May  I  pass  on,  Duchess,  in 
connexion  with  this  matter,  to  ask  you  a  somewhat 
more  personal  question?" 

"I  think,"  Berenice  said,  calmly,  "  that  I  can  spare 
you  the  necessity.  You  were  going  to  speak,  I  believe, 
of  the  engagement  between  Lawrence  Mannering  and 
myself." 

"I  was,"  Borrowdean  admitted. 

"It  does  not  exist  any  longer,"  Berenice  said.    "I 


BORROWDEAN  SHOWS  HIS  "HAND"     173 

should  be  glad  if  you  would  inform  any  one  who  has 
heard  the  rumour  that  it  is  without  any  foundation." 

Borrowdean  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  woman  by 
his  side. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  he  declared.  "I  am 
glad  for  many  reasons,  and  I  am  glad  personally." 

She  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"Indeed!  I  cannot  imagine  how  it  should  affect  you 
personally." 

"I  perhaps  said  more  than  I  meant  to,"  he  replied, 
calmly.  "I  am  a  poor,  struggling  politician  myself, 
whose  capital  consists  of  brains  and  a  capacity  for 
work,  and  whose  hopes  are  coloured  with  perhaps  too 
daring  ambitions.  Amongst  them " 

"Mr.  Mannering  has  holed  out  from  off  the  green," 
she  interrupted.  "Positively  immoral,  I  call  it." 

"Amongst  them,"  Borrowdean  continued,  calmly, 
"is  one  which  some  day  or  other  I  must  tell  you,  for 
Indeed  you  are  concerned  hi  it." 

"I  can  assure  you,  Sir  Leslie,"  she  said,  looking  at 
him  steadily,  "that  I  am  not  at  all  a  sympathetic 
person.  My  strong  advice  to  you  would  be— not  to 
tell  me.  I  do  not  think  that  you  would  gain  anything 
by  it." 

Borrowdean  met  his  fate  with  a  bow  and  a  shrug  of 
the  shoulders. 

"It  only  remains,"  he  said,  "for  me  to  beg  you  to 
pardon  what  might  seem  like  presumption.  Shall  we 
meet  them  on  the  last  green?" 

Mannering  would  have  avoided  Berenice,  but  she 
gave  him  no  option.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm, 
and  volunteered  to  show  him  a  new  way  home. 

"You  must  be  on  your  guard,  Lawrence,"  she  said. 


174  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Lord  Redford  is  very  fond  of  concealing  his  plans 
to  the  last  moment,  but  he  is  a  very  clever  man.  And 
Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  would  give  his  little  finger  to 
catch  you  tripping.  All  this  avoidance  of  politics  is 
part  of  a  scheme.  They  will  spring  something  upon 
you  quite  suddenly.  Don't  give  any  hasty  pledges." 

"Thank  you  for  your  warning,"  he  said.  "I  will  be 
careful." 

"Tell  me,"  she  said,  "as  a  friend,  what  are  your 
plans?  Forget  that  I  am  interested  in  politics  alto- 
gether. I  simply  want  to  know  how  you  are  spending 
your  time  for  the  next  few  months." 

"It  depends  upon  them,"  he  answered,  looking 
downwards  into  the  valley,  where  Lord  Redford  and 
Borrowdean  were  walking  side  by  side.  "If  they  ask 
me  to  resign  my  seat  I  shall  go  North  again,  and  it  is 
just  possible  that  I  might  come  back  into  the  House 
as  a  labour  member.  On  the  other  hand,  if  they  are 
content  with  such  support  as  I  can  give  them,  and  to 
have  me  on  the  fence  at  present  so  far  as  the  tariff 
question  is  concerned,  why,  I  shall  go  back  and  do 
the  best  I  can  for  them." 

"You  are  not  quite  won  over  to  the  other  side  yet, 
then,"  she  remarked,  smiling, 

"Not  yet,"  he  answered.  "If  ever  there  was  an 
honest  doubter,  I  am  one.  If  I  had  never  left  my 
study,  England  could  not  have  contained  a  more  rabid 
opponent  of  any  change  in  our  fiscal  policy  than  I. 
I  am  like  a  small  boy  who  is  absolutely  sure  that  he 
has  worked  out  his  sum  correctly,  but  finds  the  answer 
is  not  the  one  which  his  examiner  expects.  There  is 
something  wrong  somewhere.  I  want,  if  I  can,  to 
discover  it.  I  only  want  the  truth!  I  don't  see  why 


BORROWDEAN  SHOWS  HIS  "HAND"    175 

it  should  be  so  hard  to  find,  why  figures  and  common 
sense  should  clash  entirely  and  horribly  with  existing 
facts." 

"You  wore  dun-coloured  spectacles  when  you  took 
your  walks  abroad,"  she  said,  smiling.  "No  one  else 
seems  to  have  discovered  so  distressing  a  state  of 
affairs  as  you  have  spoken  of." 

"Because  they  never  looked  beneath  the  surface," 
he  answered.  "I  myself  might  have  failed  to  under- 
stand if  I  had  not  been  shown.  Remember  that  our 
workingman  of  the  better  class  does  not  go  marching 
through  the  streets  with  an  unemployed  banner  and  a 
tin  cup  when  he  is  in  want.  He  takes  his  half  wages 
and  closes  the  door  upon  his  sufferings.  God  help  him! " 

"Adieu,  politics,"  she  declared,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders.  "Isn't  that  Clara  playing  croquet  with 
Major  Bristow?  I  wish  I  didn't  dislike  that  man  so 
much.  I  hate  to  see  the  child  with  him." 

Mannering  sighed. 

"Poor  Clara!"  he  said.  "I  am  afraid  I  have  left 
her  a  good  deal  to  herself  lately." 

"I  am  afraid  you  have,"  she  agreed,  a  little  gravely. 
"May  I  give  you  a  word  of  advice?" 

"You  know  that  I  should  be  grateful  for  it,"  he 
declared. 

"Be  sure  that  she  never  goes  to  the  Bristows  again, 
and  ask  her  whether  she  has  any  other  card  debts.  It 
may  be  my  fancy,  but  I  don't  like  the  way  that  man 
hangs  about  her,  and  looks  at  her.  I  am  sure  that 
she  does  not  like  him,  and  yet  she  never  seems  to  have 
the  courage  to  snub  him." 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said.  "I 
will  speak  to  her  to-day." 


176  A  LOST  LEADER 

"I  don't  know  where  I  am  going,  or  what  I  shall  do 
for  the  autumn,"  she  continued,  with  a  little  sigh 
"but  if  you  like  to  trust  Clara  with  me  I  will  look 
after  her.  I  think  that  she  needs  a  woman.  Yes,  I 
thought  so.  Redford  and  Sir  Leslie  are  waiting  for 
you.  Go  and  have  it  out  with  them,  my  friend." 

"You  are  too  kind  to  me,"  he  said;  "kinder  than  I 
deserve!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  "I  am  afraid 
that  my  kindness  is  only  another  form  of  selfishness. 
I  am  rather  a  lonely  person,  you  know.  Lord  Redford 
is  beckoning  to  you.  I  am  going  to  break  up  that 
croquet  party." 

Mannering  joined  the  other  two  men.  Berenice 
strolled  on  to  the  lawn.  Major  Bristow  eyed  her 
coming  with  some  disfavour.  He  was  one  of  the 
men  whom  she  always  ignored.  Clara,  on  the  other 
hand,  seemed  proportionately  relieved. 

"I  want  you  to  come  to  my  room  as  soon  as  you 
possibly  can,  child,"  Berenice  said.  "Shall  I  wait 
while  you  finish  your  game?" 

"Oh,  I  will  come  at  once,"  Clara  exclaimed,  laying 
down  her  mallet.  "Major  Bristow  will  not  mind,  I 
am  sure." 

Major  Bristow  looked  as  though  he  did  mind  very 
much,  but  lacked  the  nerve  to  say  so.  Berenice  calmly 
took  Clara  by  the  arm  and  led  her  away. 

"You  are  not  engaged  to  Major  Bristow  by  any 
chance,  are  you?"  she  asked,  calmly. 

"Engaged  to  Major  Bristow?  Heavens,  no!"  Clara 
answered.  "I  don't  think  he  is  in  the  least  a  marry- 
ing man." 

"So  much  the  better  for  our  sex,"  Berenice  answered. 


BORROWDEAN  SHOWS  HIS  "HAND"    177 

"I  wouldn't  spend  so  much  time  with  him,  my 
dear,  if  I  were  you.  I  have  known  people  with  nicer 
reputations." 

Clara  turned  a  shade  paler. 

"I  can  never  get  away  from  him,"  she  said.  "He 
follows  me — everywhere,  and " 

"You  do  not  by  any  chance,  I  suppose,  owe  him 
money?"  Berenice  asked.  "They  tell  me  that  he  has 
a  somewhat  objectionable  habit  of  winning  money 
from  girls,  more  than  they  can  afford  to  pay,  and 
then  suggesting  that  it  stand  over  for  a  time." 

Clara  turned  towards  her  with  terrified  eyes. 

"I — I  do  owe  Major  Bristow  a  little  still,"  she  ad- 
mitted. "I  seem  to  have  been  so  unlucky.  He  told 
me  that  any  time  would  do,  that  I  should  win  it  back 
again,  and  I  had  no  idea  what  stakes  we  were  playing. 
I  don't  touch  a  card  now  at  all,  but  this  was  at  Elling- 
ham  House.  They  insisted  on  my  making  a  fourth  at 
bridge." 

Berenice  tightened  her  grasp  upon  the  girl's  arm. 

"Don't  say  anything  about  this  to  your  uncle  just 
now,"  she  insisted.  "I  am  going  to  take  you  up  to 
my  room  and  write  you  a  cheque  for  the  amount, 
whatever  it  may  be.  Afterwards  I  will  have  a  talk 
with  Major  Bristow.  Nonsense,  child,  don't  cry!  The 
money  is  nothing  to  me,  and  I  always  promised  your 
uncle  that  I  would  look  after  you  a  little." 

"I  have  been  such  a  fool!"  the  girl  sobbed. 

Berenice  for  a  moment  was  also  sad.  Her  lips 
quivered,  her  eyes  were  wistful. 

"We  all  think  that  sometimes,  child,"  she  said, 
quietly.  "We  all  have  our  foolish  moments  and  our 
hours  of  repentance,  even  the  wisest  of  us!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

SIR  LESLIE  BORROWDEAN  INCURS  A  HEAVY  DEBT 

SUPPOSE,"  Lord  Redford  remarked,  thoughtfully 
"politics  represents  a  different  thing  to  all  of 
us,  according  to  our  temperament.  To  me,  I  must 
confess,  it  is  a  plain,  practical  business,  the  business 
of  law-making.  To  you,  Mannering,  I  fancy  that  it 
appeals  a  little  differently.  Now,  let  us  understand 
one  another.  Are  you  prepared  to  undertake  this 
campaign  which  we  planned  out  a  few  months  ago?" 

"If  I  did  undertake  it,"  Mannering  said,  "it  would 
be  to  leave  unsaid  the  things  which  you  would  nat- 
urally expect  from  me,  and  to  say  things  of  which 
you  could  not  possibly  approve.  I  am  very  sorry. 
You  can  command  my  resignation  at  any  moment, 
if  you  will.  But  my  views,  though  in  the  main  they 
have  not  changed,  are  very  much  modified." 

Lord  Redford  nodded. 

"That,"  he  said,  "is  our  misfortune,  but  it  certainly 
is  not  your  fault.  As  for  your  resignation,  if  you 
crossed  the  floor  of  the  House  to-morrow  we  should 
not  require  it  of  you.  You  are  responsible  to  your 
constituents  only.  We  dragged  you  back  into  public 
life — you  see  I  admit  it  freely — and  we  are  willing 
to  take  our  risk.  Whether  you  are  with  us  or  against 
us,  we  recognize  you  as  one  of  those  whose  place  is 
amongst  the  rulers'  of  the  people." 


INCURS  A  HEAVY  DEBT  179 

"You  are  very  generous,  Lord  Redford,"  Mannering 
answered. 

"Not  at  all.  It  is  no  use  being  peevish.  You  are 
a  great  disappointment  to  us,  but  we  have  not  given 
up  hope.  If  you  are  not  altogether  with  us  to-day, 
there  is  to-morrow.  I  tell  you  frankly,  Mannering, 
that  I  look  upon  you  as  a  man  temporarily  led  astray 
by  a  wave  of  sentimentality.  So  long  as  the  world 
lasts  there  will  be  rich  men  and  poor,  but  you  must 
always  remember  in  considering  this  that  it  is  character 
as  well  as  circumstances  which  is  at  the  root  of  the 
acquisition  of  wealth.  Generations  have  gone  to  the 
formation  of  our  social  fabric.  It  is  the  slow  evolu- 
tion of  the  human  laws  of  necessity.  The  socialist 
and  the  sentimentalist  and  the  philanthropist,  dropping 
gold  through  his  fingers,  have  each  had  their  fling  at 
it,  but  their  cry  is  like  the  cry  from  the  wilderness— a 
long,  lone  thing!  And  then  to  come  to  the  real  point, 
Mannering.  Grant  for  a  moment  all  that  you  have 
told  Borrowdean  and  myself  about  the  condition  of 
the  labour  classes  in  the  great  towns  and  the  universal 
depression  of  trade.  How  can  you  possibly  imagine 
that  the  imposition  of  tariff  duties  is  the  sovereign, 
or  even  a  possible,  remedy?  Why,  you  yourself  have 
been  one  of  the  most  brilliant  pamphleteers  against 
anything  of  the  sort.  You  have  been  called  the  Cob- 
den  of  the  day.  You  cannot  throw  principles  away 
like  an  old  garment." 

"Let  us  leave  for  one  moment,"  Mannering  an- 
swered, "the  personal  side  of  the  matter.  I  have  seen 
in  the  majority  of  our  large  cities  terrible  and  con- 
vincing proof  of  the  decline  of  our  manufacturing 
industries.  I  have  seen  the  outcome  of  this  in  hun- 


180  A  LOST  LEADER 

dreds  of  ruined  homes,  in  a  whole  generation  coming 
into  the  world  half  starved,  half  clothed — God  help 
those  children.  I  have  always  main  tamed  that  the 
labouring  classes  should  be  the  happiest  race  of  people 
in  this  country.  I  find  them  without  leisure  or  recre- 
ation, fighting  fate  with  both  hands  for  food.  Redford, 
the  whole  world  has  never  shown  us  a  greater  tragedy 
than  the  one  which  we  others  deliberately  and  per- 
sistently close  our  eyes  to — I  mean  the  struggle  for  life 
which  is  being  waged  in  every  one  of  our  great  cities." 

"We  have  statistics,"  Borrowdean  began. 

"Damn  statistics!  "  Mannering  interrupted.  "I  have 
juggled  with  figures  myself  in  the  old  days,  and  I 
know  how  easy  it  is.  So  do  you,  and  so  does  Redford. 
This  is  what  I  want  to  put  to  you.  The  tragedy  is 
there.  Perhaps  those  who  have  faced  it  and  come 
back  again  to  tell  of  their  experiences  have  been  a 
little  hysterical — the  horror  of  it  has  carried  them 
away.  They  may  not  have  adopted  the  most  effectual 
means  of  making  the  world  understand,  but  it  is  there. 
I  have  seen  it.  A  thousandth  part  of  this  misery  in 
a  country  with  which  we  had  nothing  to  do,  and  no 
business  to  interfere,  and  we  should  be  having  mass 
meetings  at  Exeter  Hall,  and  making  general  asses  of 
ourselves  all  over  the  country,  shrieking  for  interven- 
tion, wasting  a  whole  dictionary  of  rhetoric,  and 
probably  getting  well  snubbed  for  our  pains.  And 
because  the  murders  are  by  slow  poison  instead  of 
with  steel,  because  they  are  in  our  own  cities  and 
amongst  our  own  people,  we  accept  them  with  a  sort 
of  placid  satisfaction.  You,  Lord  Redford,  speak  of 
character  and  enunciate  social  laws,  and  Borrowdean 
will  argue  that  after  all  the  trade  of  the  country  is 


INCURS  A  HEAVY  DEBT  181 

not  so  bad  as  it  might  be,  and  will  make  an  epigram 
on  the  importation  of  sentimentality  into  politics.  In 
plain  words,  Lord  Redford,  we,  as  a  party,  are  asleep 
to  what  is  going  on.  One  statesman  has  recognized 
it,  and  proposed  a  startling  and  drastic  remedy.  We 
attack  the  remedy  tooth  and  nail,  but  we  place  forward 
no  counter  proposition.  It  is  as  though  a  dying  man 
were  attended  by  two  doctors,  one  of  whom  has  pre- 
pared a  remedy  which  the  other  declines  to  administer 
without  suggesting  one  of  his  own.  It  is  not  a  logical 
position.  The  medicine  may  not  cure,  but  let  the 
man  have  his  chance  of  life." 

"Your  simile,"  Lord  Redford  said,  "assumes  that 
the  man  is  dying." 

"I  have  seen  the  mark  of  death  upon  his  face," 
Mannering  answered.  "The  men  who  are  traitors 
to  their  country  to-day  are  those  who,  healthy  enough 
themselves,  talk  causeless  and  shallow  optimism  which 
is  fed  alone  by  their  own  prosperity.  The  doctrine 
of  Christ  is  the  care  of  others.  If  you  do  not  believe, 
the  sick-room  is  open  also  to  you;  go  there  unpreju- 
diced, and  with  an  open  mind,  and  you  will  come  away 
as  I  have  come  away." 

"Must  we  take  it,  then,  Mannering,"  Lord  Redford 
said,  gravely,  "that  you  are  prepared  to  support  the 
administering  of  the  medicine  you  spoke  of?" 

Mannering  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"At  least,"  he  said,  "I  am  not  going  to  be  amongst 
those  who  cry  out  against  it  and  offer  nothing  them- 
selves. I  am  going  to  analyze  that  medicine,  and  if 
I  see  a  chance  of  life  in  it  I  shall  say,  let  us  run  a 
little  risk,  rather  than  stand  by  inactive,  to  look  upon 
the  face  of  death.  In  other  words,  I  become  for  the 


182  A  LOST  LEADER 

moment  a  passive  figure  in  politics  so  far  as  this  question 
is  concerned." 

Lord  Redford  held  out  his  hand. 

"Let  it  go  at  that,  Mannering,"  he  said.  "I  believe 
that  you  will  come  back  to  us.  We  shall  be  always 
glad  of  your  support,  but  cf  course  you  will  under- 
stand that  the  position  from  to-day  is  changed.  If 
you  had  carried  the  standard,  as  we  had  hoped,  the 
reward  also  was  to  have  been  yours.  We  must  elect 
one  of  ourselves  to  take  your  place.  To  put  it  plainly, 
your  defection  now  releases  us  from  all  pledges." 

"I  understand,"  Mannering  answered.  "It  was 
scarcely  ambition  which  brought  me  back  into  poli- 
tics, and  I  must  work  for  the  cause  in  which  I  believe. 
If  I  am  forced  to  take  any  definite  action,  I  shall,  of 
course,  resign  my  seat." 

The  door  closed  behind  him.  Borrowdean  struck 
a  match,  and  Lord  Redford  looked  thoughtfully  out 
of  the  window  across  the  park. 

"I  was  always  afraid  of  this,"  Borrowdean  said, 
gloomily.  "There  is  a  leaven  of  madness  in  the  man." 

Lord  Redford  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Genius  or  madness,"  he  remarked.  "We  may  yet 
see  him  a  modern  Rienzi  carried  into  power  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  people.  Such  a  man  might  become 
anything.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  think  that  he  will 
go  back  into  his  study.  He  has  the  brain  to  fashion 
wonderful  thoughts,  and  the  lips  to  fire  them  into  life. 
But  I  doubt  his  adaptability.  I  cannot  imagine  him 
ever  becoming  a  real  and  effective  force." 

Borrowdean,  who  was  bitterly  disappointed,  smoked 
furiously. 

"We  shall  see,"  he  said.     "If  Mannering  is  not  for 


INCURS  A  HEAVY  DEBT  183 

us,  I  think  that  I  can  at  least  promise  that  he  does 
no  harm  on  the  other  side." 

Lord  Redford  turned  away  from  the  window.  He 
eyed  Borrowdean  curiously. 

"It  was  you,"  he  remarked,  "who  brought  Man- 
nering  back  into  public  life.  You  had  a  certain  reward 
for  it,  and  you  would  have  had  a  much  greater  one 
if  things  had  gone  our  way.  But  I  want  you  to  remem- 
ber this.  Mannering  is  best  left  alone — now,  for  the 
present.  You  understand  me?" 

Borrowdean  shrugged  his  shoulders.  There  was  a 
good  deal  too  much  sentiment  in  politics. 

Mannering  and  Berenice  came  together  for  a  few 
moments  on  the  terrace  after  dinner.  He  was  not 
so  completely  engrossed  in  his  own  affairs  as  to  fail  to 
notice  her  lack  of  colour  and  a  certain  weariness  of 
manner,  which  had  kept  her  more  silent  than  usual 
during  the  whole  evening. 

"Well?  "she  said. 

"There  is  nothing  definite,"  he  answered.  "You 
see,  the  question  of  tariff  reform  is  not  before  the  House 
at  present,  and  Redford  does  not  require  me  to  resign 
my  seat.  But  of  course  it  will  come  to  that  sooner 
or  later." 

She  leaned  over  the  grey  balustrade.  With  her 
it  was  a  moment  of  weakness.  She  was  suddenly 
conscious  of  the  fact  that  she  was  no  longer  a  young 
woman.  The  time  when  she  might  hope  to  find  in 
life  the  actual  flavour  and  joy  of  passionate  living  was 
nearing  the  end.  And  a  little  while  ago  they  had 
seemed  so  near!  The  pity  of  it  stirred  up  a  certain 
sense  of  rebellion  in  her  heart.  She  was  still  a  beauti- 


184  A  LOST  LEADER 

ful  woman.  She  knew  very  well  the  arts  by  which 
men  are  enslaved.  Why  should  she  not  try  them 
upon  him — this  man  who  loved  her,  who  seemed  will- 
ing to  sacrifice  both  their  lives  to  a  piece  of  sense- 
less quixoticism?  Her  fingers  touched  his,  and  held 
them  softly.  Thrilled  through  all  his  senses,  he  turned 
towards  her  wonderingly. 

"Are  we  wise,  Lawrence,"  she  whispered,  "if  indeed 
you  love  me?  Life  is  so  short,  and  I  am  not  a  young 
woman  any  more.  I  have  been  lonely  so  long.  I 
want  a  little  happiness  before  I  go." 

"Don't!"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "You  know — what 
comes  between  us." 

She  was  a  little  indignant,  but  still  tender. 

"This  woman  does  not  want  you,  Lawrence,"  she 
cried.  "I  do!  Oh,  Lawrence!" 

He  faltered.    She  laid  her  fingers  upon  his  arm. 

"Come  down  the  steps,"  she  murmured,  "and  I 
will  show  you  Lady  Redford's  rose-garden." 

Her  touch  was  compelling.  He  could  not  have 
resisted  it.  And  about  his  heart  lay  the  joy  of  her 
near  presence.  Side  by  side  they  moved  along  the 
terrace — it  seemed  to  him  that  they  passed  towards 
their  destiny.  The  gentle  rustling  of  her  clothes,  him 
their  slight,  mysterious  perfume,  was  like  music  to  him. 
A  sudden  wave  of  passion  carried  him  away.  The 
primitive  virility  of  the  man,  awake  at  last,  demanded 
its  birthright. 

And  then  upon  the  lower  step  they  met  Bor- 
rowdean,  and  he  placed  himself  squarely  in  their 
way. 

"I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  you,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"  but  Lord  Redford  has  sent  me  out  to  look  for  you 


YOU    \VILL    FIND    YOURSELF   REPAID    FOR   THIS,    SlR    I-,ESLIE,' 

SHE    MURMURED  " 

\_Pasc  185 


INCURS  A  HEAVY  DEBT  185 

and  to  send  you  at  once  into  the  library.  Some- 
thing rather  serious  has  happened." 

Mannering   came   down   to  earth. 

"The  evening  papers  have  come,"  Borrowdean  said. 
"The  Patt  Matt  has  the  whole  story.  You  were  seen 
at  the  workingmen's  club  in  Glasgow!" 

Mannering  turned  towards  the  house.  His  nerves 
were  all  tingling  with  excitement,  but  the  thread  had 
suddenly  been  snapped.  He  was  no  longer  in  danger 
of  yielding  to  that  flood  of  delicious  sensations.  His 
voice  had  been  almost  steady  as  he  had  begged  Bere- 
nice to  excuse  him.  Berenice  stood  quite  still.  Her 
hand  was  pressed  to  her  side,  her  dark  eyes  were  lit 
with  passion.  She  leaned  forward  towards  Borrowdean, 
and  seemed  about  to  strike  him. 

"You  will  find  yourself — repaid  for  this,  Sir  Leslie," 
she  murmured. 

Then  she  turned  abruptly  away.  For  an  hour  or 
more  she  walked  alone  amongst  the  treHised  walks 
of  Lady  Redford's  rose-garden.  But  Mannering  did 
not  return. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  WOMAN   AND  —  THE   OTHER   WOMAN 


see>  Mannering,"  Lord  Redford  said,  tapping 
the  outspread  evening  paper  with  his  forefinger, 
"  the  situation  now  presents  a  different  aspect.  I  have 
no  wish  to  force  your  hand  —  a  few  hours  ago  I  think 
I  proved  this.  But  if  you  are  to  remain  even  nomi- 
nally with  us  some  sort  of  pronouncement  must  come 
from  you  in  reply  to  these  statements." 
"Yes,"  Mannering  said,  "that  is  quite  reasonable." 
"The  postponement  of  your  campaign  has  been 
hinted  at  before,"  Lord  Redford  continued,  "but  we 
have  never  used  the  word  abandonment.  Now,  to 
speak  bluntly,  the  whole  fat  is  in  the  fire.  Your  place 
on  the  fence  is  no  longer  possible.  You  must  make 
your  own  declaration,  and  it  must  be  for  one  of  three 
things.  You  must  remain  with  us,  abandon  public 
life  for  a  time,  or  go  over  to  the  other  side.  And 
you  must  make  promptly  an  announcement  of  your 
intentions." 

"I  have  no  alternative  in  the  matter,"  Mannering 
said.  "In  fact,  I  think  that  this  has  happened  oppor- 
tunely. My  presence  with  you  was  sure  to  prove  some- 
thing of  an  embarrassment  to  all  of  us.  I  shall  apply 
for  the  Chiltern  Hundreds  to-morrow,  and  I  shall 
not  seek  to  re-enter  the  present  Parliament.  The  few 
months'  respite  will  be  useful  to  me.  I  can  only 
express  to  you,  Lord  Redford,  my  sincere  gratitude 


THE  OTHER  WOMAN  187 

for  all  your  consideration,  and  my  regret  for  this  dis- 
arrangement of  your  plans." 

Lord  Redford  sighed.  Why  were  men  born,  he  won- 
dered, with  such  a  prodigious  capacity  for  playing  the 
fool? 

"My  chief  regret,  Mannering,"  he  said,  "is  for  you. 
The  Fates  so  controlled  circumstances  that  you  seemed 
certain  to  achieve  as  a  young  man  what  is  the  crown- 
ing triumph  of  us  veterans  in  the  political  world.  I 
respect  the  honest  scruples  of  every  man,  but  it  seems 
to  me  that  you  are  throwing  away  an  unparalleled 
opportunity  in  a  fit  of  what  a  practical  man  like  myself 
can  only  call  sentimentality.  I  have  no  more  to  say. 
Forgive  me  if  I  have  said  too  much.  For  the  rest, 
give  us  the  pleasure  of  your  company  here  for  as  long 
as  you  find  it  convenient.  We  will  abjure  politics,  and 
you  shall  give  me  my  revenge  at  golf." 

Mannering  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said,  "but 
there  is  only  one  course  open  to  me.  I  must  go  back 
and  make  my  plans.  If  I  could  have  a  carriage  for 
the  nine-forty!" 

Lord  Redford  made  no  effort  to  induce  him  to 
change  his  mind,  though  he  remained  courteous  to 
the  last. 

"I  was  really  glad  to  have  him  go,"  he  told  Bor- 
rowdean  afterwards.  "His  very  presence — the  thought 
that  there  could  be  such  colossal  fools  in  the  world — 
irritated  me  beyond  measure.  You  can  write  his 
epitaph,  Leslie,  if  your  humorous  vein  is  working,  for 
the  man  is  politically  dead." 

"One  never  knows,"  Berenice  said,  quietly.  "There 
must  be  something  great  about  a  man  capable  of 


188  A  LOST  LEADER 

such  prodigious  self-sacrifice.     For  at  heart  Lawrence 
Mannering  is  an  ambitious  man." 

Lord  Redford  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Perhaps,"  he  said,  "but  I  am  very  sure  of  this. 
There  is  nothing  so  great  about  the  man  as  his 
folly." 

Berenice  smiled. 

"We  shall  see,"  she  said.  "Personally,  I  believe 
that  Sir  Leslie  would  find  his  epitaph  a  little  previous. 
I  saw  a  great  deal  of  Lawrence  Mannering  in  the  coun- 
try, and  I  think  that  I  understand  him  as  well  as  either 
of  you.  I  believe  that  his  day  will  come." 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,"  Lord  Redford  pronounced, 
"that  I  very  much  wish  you  had  left  him  down  at  his 
country  home.  Between  you  you  have  created  a  very 
serious  situation.  I  must  go  up  to  town  to-morrow 
and  see  Manningham.  In  the  meantime,  Leslie,  I  shall 
leave  those  reports  severely  alone.  We  must  ignore 
Mannering  altogether." 

Berenice  turned  away  with  a  smile  at  her  lips.  She 
had  a  very  little  opinion  of  Lord  Redford  and  his  follow- 
ing. Already  she  saw  the  man  whose  career  they 
counted  finished,  at  the  head  of  a  new  and  greater 
party.  There  were  plenty  of  clever  men  of  the  coming 
generation,  plenty  of  room  for  compromises,  for  the 
formation  of  a  great  national  party  out  of  the  scattered 
units  of  a  disunited  opposition.  She  believed  Mannering 
strong  enough  to  do  this.  She  saw  in  it  greater  possi- 
bilities than  might  have  been  forthcoming  even  if  he 
had  been  chosen  to  lead  the  somewhat  ragged  party 
represented  by  Lord  Redford  and  his  followers.  For 
the  rest,  she  had  been  very  near  the  success  she  so 
desired.  Only  an  accident  had  robbed  her  of  victory. 


THE  OTHER  WOMAN  189 

If  once  they  had  reached  the  rose-garden  she  knew 
that  she  would  have  triumphed. 

As  her  maid  took  off  her  jewellery  that  night  she 
smiled  at  herself  in  the  glass.  She  was  thinking  of 
that  moment  on  the  terrace.  The  glow  had  not  wholly 
faded  from  her  face — she  saw  herself  with  her  long, 
slender  neck  and  smooth,  unwrinkled  complexion,  still 
beautiful,  still  a  woman  to  be  loved.  Her  maid  ven- 
tured to  whisper  a  word  of  respectful  compliment. 
Truly  Madame  La  Duchesse  was  growing  younger! 

What  strange  whim,  or  evil  fate,  had  turned  his  feet 
in  that  direction?  Mannering  often  tried  to  trace  back- 
wards the  workings  of  his  mind  that  night,  but  he 
never  wholly  succeeded.  He  reached  London  about 
eleven,  and  sent  his  man  home  with  his  luggage,  in- 
tending merely  to  call  in  at  the  club  for  letters.  But 
afterwards  he  remembered  only  that  he  had  strolled 
aimlessly  along  homewards,  thinking  deeply,  and  not 
particularly  careful  as  to  his  direction.  Even  then  he 
would  have  passed  the  house  in  Sloane  Gardens  with- 
out looking  up,  but  for  the  civil  "Good-night,  sir,"  of 
a  coachman  sitting  on  the  box  of  a  small  brougham 
drawn  up  against  the  kerb.  He  raised  his  head  to 
return  the  salute,  and  realized  at  once  where  he  was. 
Almost  at  the  same  moment  the  front  door  opened, 
and  behind  a  glow  of  light  hi  the  hall  he  saw  a  familiar 
figure  in  the  act  of  passing  out  to  her  carriage.  The 
street  was  well  lit,  and  he  was  almost  opposite  a  lamp- 
post. She  recognized  him  at  once. 

"Lawrence,"  she  exclaimed,  incredulously.  "You — 
were  you  coming  in?" 

She   was   wrapped   from   head   to    foot    in    a   long 


190  A  LOST  LEADER 

white  opera  cloak,  but  the  jewels  in  her  hair  and  at 
her  throat  glistened  in  the  flashing  light.  She  moved 
slowly  forward  to  his  side.  Her  maid,  who  had  been 
coming  out  to  open  the  carriage  door,  lingered  behind. 

"I — upon  my  word,  I  scarcely  know  how  I  came 
here,"  he  answered,  a  little  bewildered.  "I  was  walk- 
ing home — it  is  scarcely  out  of  my  way — and  thinking. 
You  are  going  out?" 

She  nodded.  Looking  at  her  now  more  closely  he 
saw  the  shadows  under  her  eyes,  only  imperfectly  con- 
cealed. The  little  gesture  with  which  she  answered 
him  savoured  of  weariness. 

"Yes,  I  was  going  out.  I  have  sat  alone  with  my 
thoughts  all  day,  and  I  don't  want  to  end  my  life  in 
a  lunatic  asylum.  I  want  a  little  change,  that  is  all. 
If  you  will  come  in  and  talk  to  me  instead,  that  will 
do  as  well.  Any  sort  of  distraction,  you  see,"  she 
added,  with  a  hard  little  laugh,  "just  to  keep  me 
from- 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  He  looked  at  her 
gravely,  and  from  her  to  the  waiting  carriage.  He 
suddenly  realized  how  the  altered  condition  of  affairs 
must  affect  her. 

"I  shall  have  to  come  and  see  you  hi  a  day  or  two," 
he  said.  "But  now "  he  hesitated. 

"Why  not  now,  then?"  she  asked. 

"You  have  an  engagement,"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  was  only  going  somewhere  to  supper.  I  was 
going  to  call  for  Eva  Fanesborough,  and  I  suppose  we 
should  have  had  some  bridge  afterwards.  Come  in 
instead,  Lawrence.  I  can  telephone  to  her." 

Already  a   presage  of  evil   seemed   to  be  forming 


THE  OTHER  WOMAN  191 

itself  in  his  mind.  He  would  have  given  anything 
to  have  thought  of  some  valid  excuse. 

"Your  carriage — 

"Pooh!"  she  answered.  "John,  I  shall  not  want 
you  to-night,"  she  said  to  the  coachman.  "Come!" 

She  led  the  way,  and  Mannering  followed.  As  the 
maid  closed  the  door  behind  them  Mannering  felt  his 
breath  quicken — his  sense  of  depression  grew  stronger. 
He  seemed  threatened  by  some  new  and  intangible 
danger.  He  stood  on  the  hearthrug  while  she  bent 
over  the  switch  and  turned  on  the  electric  light  in  the 
sitting-room.  Then  she  threw  off  her  cloak  and  looked 
at  him  curiously  for  a  moment.  Her  face  softened. 

"My  dear  Lawrence,"  she  said,  "has  politics  done 
this,  or  are  you  ill?" 

"I  am  quite  well,"  he  answered.  "A  little  tired, 
perhaps.  I  have  had  rather  a  trying  day." 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered  sandwiches  and  wine. 

"You  look  like  a  corpse,"  she  said,  and  stood  over 
him  while  he  ate  and  drank.  And  all  the  time  that 
indefinable  fear  within  him  grew.  She  made  him 
smoke.  Then  she  leaned  back  in  an  easy-chair  and 
looked  across  at  him. 

"You  had  something  to  say  to  me.     What  was  it?" 

"Nothing  good,"  he  answered.  "I  have  quarrelled 
with  my  party,  and  I  have  to  resign  my  seat  in  the 
House." 

"Already?" 

"Already!  I  am  sorry,  as  of  course  in  a  few  months' 
time  I  should  have  been  in  office,  and  drawing  a  con- 
siderable salary.  As  it  is "  he  hesitated. 

"Oh,  I  understand!"  she  said.  "Well,  it  doesn't 
matter  much.  I  only  have  the  house  for  six  months 


192  A  LOST  LEADER 

furnished,  and  that's  paid  for  in  advance.  John  must 
go,  and  the  horses  can  be  sold." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Only  a  few  months 
ago  she  had  talked  very  differently. 

"I — I  am  not  sure  whether  all  that  will  be  neces- 
sary," he  said.  "I  can  find  a  tenant  for  Blakely,  and 
I  daresay  I  can  manage  another  hundred  a  year  or  so. 
Only,  of  course,  the  large  increase  we  had  thought 
of  will  not  be  possible  now." 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  she  answered,  idly. 

He  moved  in  his  chair  uncomfortably.  He  found 
her  wholly  incomprehensible. 

"What  a  beast  I  must  have  seemed  to  you  always," 
she  exclaimed,  suddenly. 

"Why?"  he  asked,  pointlessly. 

"I've  sponged  on  you  all  my  life,  and  you're  not  a 
rich  man,  are  you,  Lawrence?  Then  I  dragged  you 
into  politics  to  supply  me  with  the  means  to  spend 
more  money.  My  claim  on  you  was  one  of  sentiment 
only,  but — I've  made  you  pay.  No  wonder  you  hate 
me!" 

"Your  claim  on  me,  even  to  every  penny  I  pos- 
sess," Mannering  answered,  "was  a  perfectly  just  one. 
I  have  never  denied  it,  and  I  have  done  my  best. 
And  as  to  hating  you,  you  know  quite  well  it  is  not 
true!" 

"Ah!"  She  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet,  and  before 
he  had  realized  her  intention  she  was  on  her  knees  by 
his  side.  She  caught  at  his  hand  and  kept  her  face 
hidden  from  him. 

"Lawrence,"  she  cried,  "I  was  mad  the  other  day. 
It  was  all  the  pent-up  bitterness  of  years  which  seemed 
to  escape  me  so  suddenly.  I  said  so  much  that  I  did 


THE  OTHER  WOMAN  193 

not  mean  to — I  was  mad,  dear.  Oh,  Lawrence,  I  am 
so  lonely!" 

Then  the  fear  in  his  heart  became  a  live  thing.  He 
was  dumb.  He  could  not  have  spoken  had  he  tried. 

"It  was  your  coldness  all  these  years,"  she  mur- 
mured. "You  were  different  once.  You  know  that. 
At  first,  when  the  horror  of  what  happened  was  young, 
I  thought  I  understood.  I  thought,  as  it  wore  off, 
that  you  would  be  different.  The  horror  has  gone  now, 
Lawrence.  We  know  that  it  was  an  accident,  it  might 
as  well  have  been  another  as  you.  But  you  have  not 
changed.  I  have  given  up  hoping.  I  have  tried  every- 
thing else,  and  I  am  a  very  miserable  woman.  Now 
I  am  going  to  pray  to  you,  Lawrence.  You  do  not 
care  for  me  more.  Pretend  that  you  do!  You  can- 
not give  me  your  love.  Give  me  the  best  you  can. 
Don't  despise  me  too  utterly,  Lawrence!  Pity  me,  if 
you  will.  Heaven  knows  I  need  it.  And — you  will 
be  a  little  kind!" 

Her  hands  were  clasped  about  his  neck.  He  disen- 
gaged himself  gently. 

"Blanche!"  he  cried,  hoarsely,  "I  love  another 
woman!" 

"Are  you  engaged  to  her?" 

"No!    Not  now!" 

"Then  what  does  it  matter?  What  does  it  matter, 
anyhow?  It  is  not  the  real  thing  I  am  asking  you  for, 
Lawrence — only  the  make-belief!  Keep  the  rest  for 
her,  if  you  must,  but  give  me  lies,  false  looks,  hollow 
caresses,  anything!  You  see  what  depths  I  have 
fallen  to." 

He  held  her  hands  tightly.  A  great  pity  for  her 
filled  his  heart — pity  for  her,  and  for  himself. 


194  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Blanche,"  he  said,  "there  is  one  way  only.  It  is 
for  you  to  decide.  Will  you  marry  me?  I  will  do  my 
best  to  make  you  a  good  husband!" 

' '  Marry  you  ? ' '  she  gasped .     ' '  Lawrence,  I  dare  not ! " 

"I  cannot  alter  the  past,"  he  said,  sadly.  "It  never 
seemed  to  me  possible  that  you  could  care  for  my— 
after  what  happened.  But — 

"Oh,  it  is  not  that,"  she  interrupted.  "There  is— 
the  other  woman,  and,  Lawrence,  I  should  be  afraid. 
I  am  not  good  enough!" 

"Whatever  you  are,  Blanche,"  he  said,  gravely, 
"remember  that  it  is  I  who  am  responsible  for  your 
having  been  left  alone  to  face  the  world.  Your  follies 
belong  to  me.  I  am  quite  free  to  share  then-  burden 
with  you." 

"But  the  other  woman?"  she  faltered. 

"I  must  love  her  always,"  he  said,  quietly,  "but 
I  cannot  marry  her." 

"And  you  would  kiss  me  sometimes,  Lawrence?" 
she  whispered. 

He  took  her  quietly  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
forehead. 

"I  will  do  my  best,  Blanche,"  he  said.  "I  dare 
not  promise  any  more." 


BOOK  HI 

CHAPTER  I 

MATRIMONY   AND   AN   AWKWARD   MEETING 

"TTOW  delightfully  Continental!"  Blanche  exclaimed, 

A  JL  as  the  head-waiter  showed  them  to  their  table. 
"Hester,  did  you  ever  see  anything  more  quaint?" 

"It  is  perfect,"  the  girl  answered,  leaning  back  in 
her  chair,  and  looking  around  with  quiet  content. 

Mannering  took  up  the  menu  and  ordered  dinner. 
Then  he  lit  a  cigarette  and  looked  around. 

"It  certainly  is  quaint,"  he  said.  "One  dines  out 
of  doors  often  enough,  especially  over  here,  but  I  have 
never  seen  a  courtyard  made  such  excellent  use  of 
before.  The  place  is  really  old,  too." 

They  had  found  their  way  to  a  small  seaside  resort, 
in  the  north  of  France,  which  Mannering  had  heard 
highly  praised  by  some  casual  acquaintance.  The 
courtyard  of  the  small  hotel  was  set  out  with  round 
dining  tables,  and  the  illumination  was  afforded  by 
Japanese  lanterns  hung  from  every  available  spot. 
A  small  band  played  from  a  wooden  balcony.  Mon- 
sieur, the  proprietor,  walked  anxiously  from  table  to 
table,  all  smiles  and  bows.  Through  the  roofed  way, 
which  led  from  the  street,  one  caught  a  distant  glimpse 
of  the  sea. 

Mannering,  to  the  surprise  of  his  friends,  and  to  his 
own  secret  amazement,  had  survived  the  crisis  which 


196  A  LOST  LEADER 

had  seemed  at  one  time  likely  enough  to  wreck  his 
life.  Politically  he  was  no  longer  a  great  power,  for 
the  party  whose  cause  he  had  half  espoused  had  met 
with  a  distinct  reverse,  and  he  himself  was  without 
a  seat  in  Parliament,  but  amongst  the  masses  his  was 
still  a  name  to  conjure  with.  Socially  his  marriage 
with  Blanche  Phillimore  had  scarcely  proved  the  dis- 
aster which  every  one  had  anticipated.  Her  old  ways 
and  manner  of  life  lay  hi  the  background.  She  had 
aged  a  little,  perhaps,  and  grown  thinner,  but  she  had 
shown  from  the  first  an  almost  pathetic  desire  to  adapt 
her  life  to  his,  to  assume  an  altogether  unobtrusive 
position,  and  if  she  could  not  in  any  way  influence  his 
destiny,  at  least  she  did  not  hamper  it.  She  had  made 
no  demands  upon  him  which  he  was  not  able  to  grant. 
She  had  lived  where  he  had  suggested,  she  had  never 
embarrassed  him  with  too  vehement  an  affection. 
As  for  Mannering  himself,  he  had  found  solace  hi  work. 
Defeated  at  the  polls,  he  had  declined  a  safe  seat,  and 
remained  the  chosen  independent  candidate  of  a  great 
Northern  constituency.  He  addressed  public  meetings 
occasionally,  and  he  contributed  to  the  reviews.  With- 
out having  ever  finally  committed  himself  to  a  definite 
scheme  of  tariff  reform,  he  preached  everywhere  the 
doctrine  of  consideration.  In  a  modified  way  he  was 
reckoned  now  as  one  of  its  possible  supporters. 

They  were  almost  halfway  through  their  dinner 
when  some  commotion  was  heard  hi  the  narrow  street 
outside.  Then  with  much  tooting  of  horns  and  the 
shrill  shouting  of  directions  from  the  bystanders, 
two  heavily  laden  touring  cars  turned  slowly  into  the 
cobbled  courtyard,  and  drew  up  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  semicircular  line  of  tables.  Mannering's  little 


AN  AWKWARD  MEETING  197 

party  watched  the  arrivals  with  an  interest  shared  by 
every  one  in  the  place.  Muffled  up  in  cloaks  and  veils, 
they  were  at  first  unrecognized.  It  was  Mannering 
himself  who  first  realized  who  they  were. 

"Clara!"  he  exclaimed  to  the  young  lady  who  was 
standing  almost  by  his  side.  "Welcome  to  Bonestre!" 

She  turned  towards  him  with  a  little  start. 

"Uncle!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  extraordinary ! 
Why,  how  long  have  you  been  here?" 

"We  arrived  this  afternoon,"  he  answered.  "You 
remember  Hester,  don't  you?  And  this  is  Mrs.  Man- 
nering. " 

Clara  shook  hands  with  both.  She  declared  after- 
wards that  she  was  surprised  into  it,  but  she  would 
certainly  never  have  recognized  in  the  quiet,  rather 
weary-looking,  woman  who  sat  at  her  uncle's  side  the 
Blanche  Phillimore  whom  she  had  more  than  once 
passionately  declared  that  she  would  sooner  die  than 
speak  to.  She  murmured  a  few  mechanical  words, 
and  then,  suddenly  realizing  the  situation,  she  glanced 
a  little  anxiously  over  her  shoulder. 

"You  know  who  I  am  with,  uncle?"  she  whispered. 

But  Mannering  was  already  face  to  face  with  Berenice. 
She  held  out  her  hand  without  hesitation.  If  she  felt 
any  emotion  she  concealed  it  perfectly.  Her  voice 
was  steady  and  cordial,  if  her  cheeks  were  pale.  The 
dust  lay  thickly  upon  them  all.  Mannering,  tall  and 
grave  in  his  plain  dinner  clothes  and  black  tie,  stood 
almost  like  a  statue  before  her,  until  her  extended  hand 
invited  his  movement. 

"What  an  extraordinary  meeting,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr.  Mannering. 
We  have  had  such  a  ride,  all  the  way  from  Havre 


198  A  LOST  LEADER 

along  roads  an  inch  thick  in  dust.  This  is  your  wife,  is 
it  not?  I  am  very  glad  to  know  you,  Mrs.  Mannering." 

All  that  might  have  been  embarrassing  in  the  en- 
counter seemed  dissolved  by  the  utterly  conventional 
tone  of  her  greeting.  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  came  up 
and  joined  them,  and  Lord  and  Lady  Redford.  Then 
the  little  party,  escorted  by  the  landlord,  disappeared 
into  the  hotel.  Mannering  resumed  his  seat  and  con- 
tinued his  dinner.  He  leaned  over  and  addressed  his 
wife.  His  tone  was  kinder  than  usual. 

"When  we  have  had  our  coffee,"  he  said,  "I  hope 
that  you  will  feel  like  a  walk.  The  moon  is  coming  up 
over  the  sea." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Take  Hester,"  she  said.  "She  loves  that  sort  of 
thing.  I  have  a  headache,  and  I  should  like  to  go  up- 
stairs as  soon  as  possible. 

So  Hester  walked  with  Mannering  out  to  the  rocks 
where  pools  of  water,  left  by  the  tide,  shone  like  silver 
in  the  moonlight.  They  talked  very  little  at  first,  but 
as  they  leaned  over  the  rail  and  looked  out  seawards 
Hester  broke  the  silence,  and  spoke  of  the  things  which 
they  both  had  in  their  minds. 

"I  am  sorry  they  came,"  she  said.  "I  am  afraid  it 
will  upset  mother,  and  it  is  not  pleasant  for  you,  is  it?" 

"For  me  it  is  nothing,  Hester,"  he  answered,  "and 
I  hope  that  your  mother  will  not  worry  about  it.  They 
all  behaved  very  nicely,  and  we  need  not  see  much 
of  them." 

She  passed  her  arm  through  his. 

"Tell  me  how  you  feel  about  it,"  she  begged.  "It 
must  seem  to  you  like  a  glimpse  of  the  life  you  left 
when — when  you — married ! ' ' 


AN  AWKWARD  MEETING  199 

"Hester,"  he  said,  earnestly,  "don't  make  any  mis- 
take about  this.  Don't  let  your  mother  make  any 
mistake.  It  was  my  political  change  of  views  which 
separated  me  from  all  my  former  friends — that  en- 
tirely. To  them  I  am  an  apostate,  and  a  very  bad 
sort  of  one.  I  deserted  them  just  when  they  needed 
me.  I  did  it  from  convictions  which  are  stronger 
to-day  than  ever.  But  none  the  less  I  threw  them 
over.  I  always  said  that  they  very  much  exaggerated 
my  importance  as  a  factor  in  the  situation,  and  my 
words  are  proved.  They  carried  the  elections  without 
any  difficulty,  and  they  have  formed  a  strong  Govern- 
ment. They  can  afford  to  be  magnanimous  to  me. 
If  I  had  stayed  with  them  I  should  have  been  in 
office.  As  it  was,  I  lost  even  my  seat." 

"You  did  what  you  thought  was  right,"  she  said, 
softly.  "No  one  can  do  any  more!" 

Mannering  thought  over  her  words  as  they  walked 
homewards  over  the  sand-dunes.  Yes,  he  had  done 
that!  Was  he  satisfied  with  the  result?  He  had  be- 
come a  minor  power  in  politics.  Men  spoke  of  him 
as  a  weakling — as  one  who  had  shrunk  from  the 
burden  of  great  responsibility,  and  left  the  friends 
who  had  trusted  him  in  the  lurch.  And  then — there 
was  the  other  thing.  He  had  paid  a  great  price  for 
this  woman's  salvation.  Had  he  succeeded?  She  had 
given  up  all  her  old  ways.  She  dressed,  she  lived,  she 
carried  herself  through  life  even  with  a  furtive,  almost 
a  pathetic,  attempt  to  reach  his  standard.  Often  he 
caught  her  watching  him  as  though  fearful  lest  some 
word  or  action  of  hers  had  been  displeasing  to  him. 
And  yet — he  wondered — was  this  what  she  had  hoped 
for?  Had  he  given  her  what  she  had  the  right  to 


200  A  LOST  LEADER 

expect?  Had  he  indeed  received  value  for  the  price 
he  had  paid?  He  asked  Hester  a  sudden  question: 

"Hester,  is  your  mother  happy?" 

Hester  started  a  little. 

"If  she  is  not,"  she  answered,  gravely,  "she  must 
be  a  very  ungrateful  woman. " 

He  left  it  at  that,  and  together  they  retraced  their 
steps  to  the  hotel.  Hester  slipped  up  to  her  room  by 
a  side  entrance,  but  Mannering  was  obliged  to  pass  the 
table  where  the  new  arrivals  were  lingering  over  their 
coffee.  Clara  and  Lord  Redford  both  called  to  him. 

"Come  and  have  a  smoke  with  us,  Mannering,  and 
tell  us  all  about  this  place,"  the  latter  said.  "The 
Duchess  and  your  niece  are  charmed  with  it,  and  they 
want  to  stay  for  a  few  days.  Are  there  any  golf 
links?" 

"Come  and  sit  next  me,  uncle,"  Clara  cried,  "and 
tell  me  how  you  like  being  guardian  to  an  heiress.  How 
I  have  blessed  that  dear  departed  aunt  of  mine  every 
day  of  my  life." 

Mannering  accepted  a  cigarette,  and  sat  down. 

"The  golf  links  are  excellent,"  he  said.  "As  for 
your  aunt,  Clara,  she  was  a  very  sensible  woman.  Her 
money  was  so  well  invested  that  I  have  practically 
nothing  to  do.  I  expect  my  duties  will  commence 
when  the  young  men  come!" 

"Miss  Mannering,"  Sir  Leslie  said,  gravely,  "is  not 
at  all  attracted  by  young  men.  She  prefers  some- 
thing more  staid.  I  have  serious  hopes  that  before 
our  little  tour  is  over  I  shall  have  persuaded  her  to 
marry  me!" 

"You  dear  man!"  Clara  exclaimed.  "I  only  wish 
you'd  give  me  the  chance." 


AN  AWKWARD  MEETING  201 

"There's  a  brazen  child  to  have  to  chaperon,"  the 
Duchess  said.  "Positively  asking  for  a  proposal." 

"And  not  in  vain,"  Sir  Leslie  declared.  "Walk 
down  to  the  sea  with  me,  Miss  Clara,  and  I'll  propose 
to  you  in  my  most  approved  fashion.  I  think  you 
said  that  the  investments  were  sound,  Mannering?" 

"The  investments  are  all  right,"  Mannering  an- 
swered, "but  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  fortune- 
hunters." 

"And  I  a  Cabinet  Minister!"  Sir  Leslie  declared. 
"Miss  Clara,  let  us  have  that  walk." 

"To-morrow  night,"  she  promised.  "When  I  get 
up  it  will  be  to  go  to  bed.  Even  your  love-making, 
Sir  Leslie,  could  not  keep  me  awake  to-night." 

The  Duchess  rose.  The  dust  was  gone,  but  she  was 
pale,  and  looked  tired. 

"Let  us  leave  these  men  to  make  plans  for  us,"  she 
said.  "I  hope  we  shall  see  something  of  you  to-morrow, 
Mr.  Mannering.  Good-night,  everybody." 

Mannering  rose  and  bowed  with  the  others.  For 
a  moment  their  eyes  met.  Not  a  muscle  of  her  face 
changed,  and  yet  Mannering  was  conscious  of  a  sudden 
wave  of  emotion.  He  understood  that  she  had  not 
forgotten! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  SNUB   FOR   BORROWDEAN 

BERENICE  sat  at  one  of  the  small  round  tables 
in  the  courtyard,  finishing  her  morning  coffee. 
Sir  Leslie  sat  upon  the  steps  by  her  side.  It  was  one 
of  those  brilliant  mornings  in  early  September,  when 
the  sunlight  seems  to  find  its  way  everywhere.  Even 
here,  surrounded  by  the  pile  of  worn  grey  stone  build- 
ings, which  threw  shadows  everywhere,  it  had  pene- 
trated. A  long  shaft  of  soft,  warm  light  stretched 
across  the  cobbles  to  their  feet.  Berenice,  slim  and 
elegant,  fresh  as  the  morning  itself,  glanced  up  at  her 
companion  with  a  smile. 

"Clara,"  she  remarked,  "does  not  like  to  be  kept 
waiting." 

"She  is  not  down  yet,"  he  answered,  "and  there  is 
something  I  want  to  say  to  you." 

Her  delicate  eyebrows  were  a  trifle  uplifted. 

"Do  you  think  that  you  had  better?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  a  man,"  he  said,  "and  things  are  known  to 
me  which  a  woman  would  scarcely  discover.  Do  you 
think  that  it  is  quite  fair  to  send  Lady  Redford  out 
motoring  with  Mrs.  Mannering?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Lady  Redford  is,  of  course,  ignorant  of  Mrs. 
Mannering's  antecedents.  What  you  may  do  yourself 
concerns  no  one.  You  make  your  own  social  laws, 
and  you  have  a  right  to.  But  I  do  not  think  that  even 


THE  SNUB  FOR  BORROWDEAN          208 

you  have  a  right  to  pass  Blanche  Phillimore  on  to  your 
friends,  even  under  the  shelter  of  Mannering's  name." 

Berenice  looked  at  him  for  several  seconds  without 
speaking.  Borrowdean  bit  his  lip. 

"If  we  were  not  acquaintances  of  long  standing, 
Sir  Leslie,"  she  said,  calmly,  "I  should  consider  your 
remarks  impertinent.  As  it  is,  I  choose  to  look  upon 
them  as  a  regrettable  mistake.  The  person,  whoever 
she  may  be,  whom  the  Duchess  of  Lenchester  chooses 
to  receive  is  usually  acceptable  to  her  friends.  I  beg 
that  you  will  not  refer  to  the  subject  again." 

Sir  Leslie  bowed. 

"I  have  no  more  to  say,"  he  declared.  "Know- 
ing naturally  a  good  deal  more  than  you  concerning 
the  lady  in  question,  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  say 
what  I  have  said." 

"It  is  the  sort  of  duty,"  Berenice  murmured,  "which 
the  whole  world  seems  to  accept  always  with  a  relish. 
One  does  not  expect  it  so  much  from  your  sex.  Mrs. 
Mannering  was  born  one  of  us,  and  she  has  had  an 
unhappy  life.  If  she  has  been  indiscreet  she  has  her 
excuses.  I  choose  to  whitewash  her.  Do  you  under- 
stand? I  pay  dearly  enough  for  my  social  position, 
and  I  certainly  claim  its  privileges.  I  recognize  Mrs. 
Mannering,  and  I  require  my  friends  to  do  so." 

Sir  Leslie  rose  up. 

'^You  are,  if  you  will  forgive  my  saying  so,"  he  re- 
marked, drily,  "more  generous  than  wise." 

"That,"  she  answered,  "is  my  affair.  Here  comes 
Clara.  Before  you  start,  find  Mr.  Mannering.  He  is 
in  the  hotel  somewhere  writing  letters,  and  tell  him 
that  when  he  has  finished  I  wish  to  speak  to  him." 

Sir  Leslie  only  bowed.     He  felt  himself  opposed  by 


204  A  LOST  LEADER 

a  will  as  strong  as  his  own,  and  he  was  too  seriously 
annoyed  to  trust  himself  to  speech.  Clara,  in  her  cool 
white  linen  dress,  came  strolling  up. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  to  Sir  Leslie?"  she 
asked,  laughing.  "He  has  just  gone  into  the  hotel 
with  a  face  like  a  thunder-cloud." 

"I  have  been  giving  him  a  lesson  in  Christian 
charity,"  Berenice  answered.  "He  needs  it." 

Clara  nodded.    She  understood. 

"I  think  you  are  awfully  kind,"  she  said. 

Berenice  smiled. 

"I  hate  all  narrowness,"  she  said,  "and  if  there  is 
a  man  on  God's  earth  who  deserves  to  have  people 
kind  to  him  it  is  your  uncle." 

Sir  Leslie  returned,  and  he  and  Clara  departed  for 
the  golf  links.  Berenice  was  left  alone  in  the  little  grey 
courtyard,  fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  scented  shrubs 
and  blossoming  plants,  filled  too,  with  the  warm  sun- 
light, which  seemed  to  find  its  way  into  every  corner. 
She  sat  at  her  little  table,  paler  than  a  few  moments 
ago,  her  teeth  clenched,  her  white  fingers  clasped 
together.  Underneath  her  muslin  blouse  her  heart 
had  suddenly  commenced  to  beat  fiercely — a  sense 
of  excitement,  long  absent,  was  stealing  through  her 
veins.  The  bonds  which  a  year's  studied  self-re- 
pression had  forged  were  snapped  apart.  She  knew 
now  what  it  meant,  the  great  inexpressible  thing,  the 
one  eternal  emotion  which  has  come  throbbing  down 
the  world  from  the  days  when  poets  sung  their  first 
song  and  painters  flung  truth  on  to  canvas.  She  was 
a  woman  like  the  others,  and  she  loved.  Her  unique 
position  in  society,  her  carefully  studied  life,  her  lofty 
ambitions,  were  like  vain  things  crumbling  into  dust 


205 

before  her  eyes.  A  year  of  cold  misery  seemed  atoned 
for  by  the  simple  fact  that  within  a  few  yards  of  her  he 
sat  writing — that  within  a  few  minutes  he  would  be  by 
her  side.  Of  the  future  she  scarcely  thought.  Hers 
was  the  woman's  love,  content  with  small  things.  Its 
passion  was  of  the  soul,  and  its  song  was  self-sacrifice. 
But  if  she  had  known — if  she  had  only  known! 

He  came  out  to  her  soon.  His  manner  was  quiet 
and  a  little  grave.  Self-control  came  easier  to  him 
because  the  truth  had  been  with  him  longer.  Never- 
theless, he  was  not  wholly  at  his  ease. 

"You  know  what  has  happened?"  she  asked,  smiling. 
"The  Redfords  have  taken  Mrs.  Mannering  and  her 
daughter  motoring,  and  Sir  Leslie  and  Clara  have  gone 
to  the  golf  links.  You  and  I  are  left  to  entertain  one 
another." 

"What  would  you  like  to  do?"  he  asked,  simply. 

"I  should  like  to  walk,"  she  answered,  "down  by 
the  sea  somewhere.  I  am  ready  now." 

They  made  their  way  through  the  little  town,  along 
the  promenade  and  on  to  the  sands  beyond.  Then  a 
climb,  and  they  found  themselves  in  a  thick  wood 
stretching  back  inland  from  the  sea.  She  pointed  to 
a  fallen  trunk. 

"Let  us  sit  down,"  she  said.  "There  are  so  many 
things  I  want  to  ask  you." 

On  the  way  they  had  spoken  only  of  indifferent 
matters,  yet  from  the  first  Mannering  had  felt  the 
presence  of  a  subtle  something  in  her  deportment 
towards  him,  for  which  he  could  find  no  explanation. 
He  himself  was  feeling  the  tension  of  this  meeting. 
He  had  expected  to  find  her  so  different.  Gracious, 
perhaps,  because  she  was  a  great  lady,  but  certainly 


206  A  LOST  LEADER 

without  any  of  these  suggestions  of  something  kept 
back,  which  continually,  without  any  sort  of  direct 
expression,  made  themselves  felt.  And  when  they 
sat  down  she  said  nothing.  He  had  the  feeling  that 
it  was  because  she  dared  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 
Surprise  and  agitation  kept  him,  too,  silent. 

At  last  she  spoke.  Her  voice  was  not  very  steady, 
and  she  avoided  looking  at  him. 

"I  should  like,"  she  said,  "to  have  you  tell  me  about 
yourself — about  your  life — and  your  work." 

"It  is  told  in  a  few  words,"  he  answered.  "Some- 
where, somehow,  I  have  failed!  I  could  not  adopt 
the  Birmingham  programme,  I  could  not  oppose  it. 
You  know  what  isolation  means  politically? — abuse 
from  one  side  and  contempt  from  the  other.  That 
is  what  I  am  experiencing.  The  working  classes  have 
some  faith  in  me,  I  believe.  My  work,  such  as  it  is, 
is  solely  for  them.  I  suppose  the  papers  tell  the  truth 
when  they  say  that  mine  is  a  ruined  career — only, 
you  see,  I  am  trying  to  do  the  best  I  can  with  the 
pieces." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  softly,  "that  is  something.  To 
do  the  best  one  can  with  the  pieces.  We  all  might 
try  to  do  that." 

He  smiled. 

"You,  at  least,  have  no  need  to  consider  such  a 
thing,"  he  said.  "So  far  as  any  woman  can  be  pre- 
eminent hi  politics  you  have  succeeded  in  becoming  so. 
I  saw  that  a  lady's  paper  a  few  weeks  ago  said  that 
your  influence  outside  the  Cabinet  was  more  power- 
ful than  any  one  man's  within  it." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  calmly,  "the  papers  talk  like  that. 
It  gives  their  readers  something  to  laugh  at!  I  wonder 


THE  SNUB  FOR  BORROWDEAN         207 

what  you  would  say,  my  friend,  if  I  told  you  that  I, 
too,  am  engaged  in  that  same  thankless  task.  I,  too, 
am  striving  to  do  the  best  I  can  with  the  pieces." 

"You  are  not  serious!"  he  protested. 

"I  am  very  serious  indeed,"  she  declared.  " Shall  I  tell 
you  more?  Shall  I  tell  you  when  I  made  my  mistake?" 

"No!"  he  cried,  hoarsely. 

"But  I  shall,"  she  continued,  suddenly  gripping  his 
arm.  "I  meant  to  tell  you.  I  brought  you  here  to 
tell  you.  I  made  my  mistake  when  I  let  Leslie  Bor- 
rowdean  take  you  back  to  Lord  Redford  just  as  we 
were  entering  the  rose-garden  at  Bayleigh.  Do  you 
remember?  I  made  my  mistake  when  I  suffered 
anything  in  this  great  world  to  come  between  me  and 
a  woman's  only  chance  of  happiness!  I  made  my 
mistake  when  I  was  too  proud  to  tell  you  that  I  loved 
you,  and  that  nothing  else  in  the  world  mattered. 
There!  You  tried  me  hard!  You  know  that!  But 
my  mistake  was  none  the  less  fatal.  I  ought  to  have 
held  fast  by  you,  and  I  let  you  go.  And  I  shall  suffer 
for  it  all  my  days." 

"You  cared  like  that?"  he  cried. 

"Worse!"  she  answered,  turning  her  flushed  face 
towards  him.  "I  care  now.  Kiss  me,  Lawrence!" 

He  held  her  in  his  arms.  Time  stood  still  until 
she  stole  away  with  an  odd  little  laugh. 

"There,"  she  said,  "I  have  vindicated  myself.  No 
one  can  ever  call  me  a  proud  woman  again.  And  you 
know  the  truth!  I  might  have  had  you  all  to  myself 
and  I  let  you  go.  Now  I  am  going  to  do  the  best  I 
can  with  the  pieces.  The  half  of  you  I  want  belongs 
to  your  wife.  I  must  be  content  with  the  other  half. 
I  suppose  I  may  have  that?" 


208  A  LOST  LEADER 

"But  your  friends " 

"Bosh!  My  friends  and  your  wife  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  I  shan't  rob  her  again  as  I  did  just  now. 
You  can  blot  that  out — antedate  it.  It  belonged  to 
the  past.  But  I  am  not  going  through  life  as  I  have 
gone  through  this  last  year,  longing  for  a  sight  of  you, 
longing  to  hear  you  speak,  and  denying  myself  just 
because  you  are  married.  Live  with  your  wife,  Law- 
rence, and  make  her  as  happy  as  you  can,  but 
remember  that  you  owe  me  a  great  deal,  too,  and  you 
must  do  your  best  to  pay  it.  Don't  look  at  me  as 
though  I  were  talking  nonsense." 

He  held  her  hand.  She  placed  it  in  his  unresist- 
ingly. All  the  lines  in  his  face  seemed  smoothed  out. 
The  fire  of  youth  was  in  his  eyes. 

"Do- you  wonder  that  I  am  surprised?"  he  asked. 
"All  this  year  you  have  made  no  sign.  All  the  tune 
I  have  been  schooling  myself  to  forget  you." 

"Don't  dare  to  tell  me  that  you  have  succeeded!" 
she  exclaimed. 

"Not  an  iota!"  he  answered.  "It  was  the  most 
miserable  failure  of  my  life." 

She  smiled  upon  him  delightfully,  and  gently  with- 
drew her  hand. 

"Lawrence,"  she  said,  "I  am  going  to  tdk  to  you 
seriously  for  one  minute.  You  are  too  conscientious 
for  a  politician.  Don't  let  the  same  vice  spoil  our 
friendship!  Certain  things  you  owe  to  your  wife. 
Mind,  I  admit  that,  though  from  some  points  of  view 
even  that  might  be  disputed.  But  you  also  owe  me 
certain  things — and  I  mean  to  be  paid.  I  won't  be 
avoided,  mind.  I  want  to  be  treated  as  a  very  close 
— and  dear — companion — and — kiss  me  once  more, 


THE  SNUB  FOR  BORROWDEAN          209 

Lawrence,  and  then  we'll  begin,"  she  wound  up,  with 
a  little  sob  in  her  throat. 

An  hour  later  the  whole  parfcy  had  dejeuner  to- 
gether in  the  courtyard  of  the  little  hotel.  The 
Duchess  was  noticeably  kind  to  Mrs.  Mannering,  and 
she  snubbed  Sir  Leslie.  Clara  looked  on  a  little  gravely. 
The  situation  contained  many  elements  of  interest. 


CHAPTER  III 

CLOUDS — AND   A  CALL  TO  ARMS 

THE  first  cloud  appeared  towards  the  end  of  the 
third  day  at  Bonestre.  Blanche  and  Sir  Leslie 
were  left  alone,  and  he  hastened  to  improve  the 
opportunity. 

"The  Duchess  and  your  husband,"  he  remarked, 
"appear  very  easily  to  have  picked  up  again  the 
threads  of  their  old  friendship." 

"The  Duchess,"  she  answered,  "is  a  very  charm- 
ing woman.  I  am  sure  that  you  find  her  so,  don't 
you?" 

"We  are  very  old  friends,"  he  answered,  "but  I 
was  never  admitted  to  exactly  the  same  privileges 
as  your  husband  enjoys." 

"The  Duchess,"  she  answered,  calmly,  "is  a  woman 
of  taste!" 

Sir  Leslie  muttered  something  under  his  breath. 
Blanche  made  a  movement  as  though  to  take  up  again 
the  book  which  she  had  been  reading  hi  a  sheltered 
corner  of  the  hotel  garden. 

"Don't  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  we  should  make 
better  friends  than  enemies?" 

"I  am  not  at  all  sure,"  she  answered,  calmly.  "To 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  don't  fancy  you  particularly  in 
either  capacity." 

He  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"You  are  scarcely  complimentary,"  he  remarked. 


CLOUDS— AND  A  CALL  TO  ARMS         211 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be,"  she  answered.  "Why 
should  I?" 

"You  are  content,  then,  to  let  your  husband  drift 
back  into  his  old  relations  with  the  Duchess?  I  pre- 
sume that  you  know  what  they  were?" 

"Whether  I  am  or  not,"  she  answered,"  what  business 
is  it  of  yours?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  if  you  like,"  he  answered.  "In 
fact,  I  think  it  would  be  better.  It  has  been  the  one 
desire  of  my  life  to  marry  the  Duchess  of  Lenchester 
myself." 

She  smiled  at  him  scornfully. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "let  me  give  you  a  little  advice. 
Give  up  the  idea.  They  say  that  lookers-on  see  most 
of  the  game,  and  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  I'm  cer- 
tainly the  looker-on  of  this  party.  The  Duchess 
doesn't  care  a  row  of  pins  about  you!" 

"There  are  other  marriages,  besides  marriages  of 
affection,"  Sir  Leslie  said,  stiffly.  "The  Duchess  is 
ambitious." 

"But  she  is  also  a  woman,"  Blanche  declared.  "And 
she  is  in  love." 

"With  whom?" 

"With  my  husband!  I  presume  that  is  clear  enough 
to  most  people!" 

Sir  Leslie  was  a  little  staggered. 

"You  take  it  very  coolly,"  he  remarked. 

"Why  not?  The  Duchess  is  too  proud  a  woman  to 
give  herself  away,  and  my  husband — belongs  to  me!" 

"You  haven't  any  idea  of  taking  poison,  or  any- 
thing of  that  sort,  I  suppose,  have  you?"  he  inquired. 
"The  other  woman  nearly  always  does  that." 

"Not  hi  real  life,"  Blanche  answered,  composedly. 


212  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Besides,  I'm  not  the  other  woman — I'm  the  one. 
The  Duchess  is  the  other!" 

"But  your  husband 

"Do  you  know,  I  should  prefer  not  to  discuss  my 
husband — with  you,"  Blanche  said,  calmly,  taking 
up  her  book.  "He  is  not  the  sort  of  man  you  would 
be  at  all  likely  to  understand.  If  you  want  a  rich 
wife  why  don't  you  propose  to  Clara  Mannering?  I 
suppose  you  knew  that  some  unheard-of  aunt  had 
left  her  fifty  thousand  pounds?" 

Sir  Leslie  rose  to  his  feet. 

"I  don't  fancy  that  you  and  I  are  very  sympathetic 
this  afternoon,"  he  remarked.  "I  will  go  and  see  if 
any  one  has  returned." 

"Do,"  she  answered.  "I  shall  miss  you,  of  course, 
but  my  book  is  positively  absorbing,  and  I  am  dying 
to  go  on  with  it." 

Sir  Leslie  left  the  garden  without  another  word. 
Blanche  held  her  book  before  her  face  until  he  had 
disappeared.  Then  it  slipped  from  her  fingers.  She 
looked  hard  into  a  cluster  of  roses,  and  she  saw  only 
two  figures — always  the  same  figures.  Her  eyes  were 
set,  her  face  was  wan  and  old. 

"The  other  woman!"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
"That  is  what  I  am.  And  I  can't  live  up  to  it.  I 
ought  to  take  poison,  or  get  run  over  or  something, 
and  I  know  very  well  I  shan't.  Bother  the  man! 
Why  couldn't  he  leave  me  alone?" 

After  dinner  that  evening  she  accepted  her  hus- 
band's nightly  invitation  and  walked  with  him  for  a 
little  while.  The  others  followed. 

"How  much  longer  can  you  stay  away  from  Eng- 
land, Lawrence?"  she  asked  him. 


CLOUDS— AND  A  CALL  TO  ARMS        213 

"Oh — a  fortnight,  I  should  think,"  he  answered. 
"I  am  not  tied  to  any  particular  date.  You  like  it 
here,  I  hope?" 

"Immensely!    Are — our  friends  going  to  remain?" 

"I  haven't  heard  them  say  anything  about  moving 
on  yet,"  he  answered. 

"Are  you  in  love  with  the  Duchess  still,  Lawrence?" 

"Ami— Blanche!" 

"Don't  be  angry!  You  made  a  mistake  once,  you 
know.  Don't  make  another.  I'm  not  a  jealous  woman, 
and  I  don't  ask  much  from  you,  but  I'm  your  wife. 
That's  all!" 

She  turned  and  called  to  Hester.  The  little  party  re- 
arranged itself.  Mannering  found  himself  with  Berenice. 

"What  was  your  wife  saying  to  you?"  she  asked. 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  was  the  beginning,"  he  remarked. 

Berenice  sighed. 

"It  is  a  strange  thing,"  she  said,  "but  in  this  world 
no  one  can  ever  be  happy  except  at  some  one  else's 
expense.  It  is  a  most  unnatural  law  of  compensa- 
tion. Shall  we  move  on  to-morrow?" 

"The  day  after,"  he  pleaded.  "To-morrow  we  are 
going  to  Berneval." 

She  nodded. 

"We  are  queer  people,  I  think,"  she  said.  "I  have 
been  perfectly  satisfied  this  week  simply  to  be  with 
you.  When  it  comes  to  an  end  I  should  like  it  to 
come  suddenly." 

He  thought  of  her  words  an  hour  later,  when  on  his 
return  to  the  hotel  they  handed  him  a  telegram.  He 
passed  it  on  at  once  to  Lord  Redford,  and  glanced  at 
his  watch. 


214  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Poor  Cunningham,"  he  said,  "it  was  a  short  tri- 
umph for  him.  I  must  go  back  to-night,  or  the  first 
train  to-morrow  morning.  The  sitting  member  for  my 
division  of  Leeds  died  suddenly  last  night,  Blanche," 
he  said  to  his  wife.  "I  must  be  on  the  spot  at  once." 

She  rose  to  her  feet. 

"I  will  go  and  pack,"  she  said. 

Lady  Redford  followed  her  very  soon.  Clara  and 
Sir  Leslie  had  not  yet  returned  from  their  stroll.  Lord 
Redford  remained  alone  with  them. 

"I  scarcely  know  what  sort  of  fortune  to  wish  you, 
Mannering,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  your  first  speech  will 
tell  us." 

Berenice  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

"I  can't  imagine  you  as  a  labour  member  in  the 
least,"  she  remarked. 

"Doesn't  this  force  your  hand  a  little,  Mannering?" 
Lord  Redford  said.  "I  understand  that  you  were 
anxious  to  avoid  a  direct  pronouncement  upon  the 
fiscal  policy  for  the  present." 

Mannering  nodded  gravely. 

"It  is  quite  time  I  made  up  my  mind,"  he  said. 
"I  shall  do  so  now." 

"May  we  find  ourselves  in  the  same  lobby!"  Lord 
Redford  said.  "I  will  go  and  find  my  man.  He  may 
as  well  take  you  to  the  station  in  the  car." 

Berenice  smiled  at  Mannering  luminously  through 
the  shadowy  lights. 

"Dear  friend,"  she  said,  "I  am  delighted  that  you 
are  going.  Our  little  time  here  has  been  delightful, 
but  we  had  reached  its  limit.  I  like  to  think  that  you 
are  going  back  into  the  thick  of  it.  Don't  be  faint- 
hearted, Lawrence.  Don't  lose  faith  in  yourself.  You 


CLOUDS— AND  A  CALL  TO  ARMS         215 

have  chosen  a  terribly  lonely  path;  if  any  man  can 
find  his  way  to  the  top,  you  can.  And  don't  dare  to 
forget  me,  sir!" 

He  caught  her  cheerful  tone. 

"You  are  inspiring,"  he  declared.  "Thank  heaven, 
I  have  a  twelve  hours'  journey  before  me.  I  need 
time  for  thought,  if  ever  a  man  did." 

"Don't  worry  about  it,"  she  answered,  lightly. 
"The  truth  is  somewhere  in  your  brain,  I  suppose,  and 
when  the  time  comes  you  will  find  it.  Much  better 
think  about  your  sandwiches." 

The  car  backed  into  the  yard.  Blanche  reappeared, 
and  behind  her  Mannering's  bag. 

"I  do  hope  that  Hester  and  I  have  packed  every- 
thing," she  said.  "We  could  come  over  to-morrow, 
if  there's  anything  you  want  us  for.  If  not  we  shall 
stay  here  for  another  week.  Good-bye!" 

She  calmly  held  up  her  lips,  and  Mannering  kissed 
them  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  She  remained  by 
his  side  even  when  he  turned  to  say  farewell  to  Berenice. 

"I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be  going,"  she  said  calmly. 
"I  will  send  on  your  letters  if  there  are  any  to- 
morrow. Wire  your  address  as  soon  as  you  arrive. 
Good  luck!" 

The  car  glided  away.  They  all  stood  in  a  group 
to  see  him  go,  and  waved  indiscriminate  farewells. 
Blanche  moved  a  little  apart  as  the  car  disappeared, 
and  Berenice  watched  her  curiously.  She  was  rub- 
bing her  lips  with  her  handkerchief. 

"A  sting!"  she  remarked,  becoming  suddenly  aware 
of  the  other's  scrutiny.  "Nothing  that  hurts  very 
much!" 


CHAPTER  IV 

DISASTER 

MANNERING,  in  his  sitting-room  at  last,  locked 
the  door  and  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief.  Upon 
his  ear-drums  there  throbbed  still  the  yells  of  his 
enthusiastic  but  noisy  adherents — the  truculent  cries 
of  those  who  had  heard  his  great  speech  with  satis- 
faction, of  those  who  saw  pass  from  amongst  them- 
selves to  a  newer  school  of  thought  one  whom  they 
had  regarded  as  their  natural  leader.  It  was  over  at 
last.  He  had  made  his  pronouncement.  To  some  it 
might  seem  a  compromise.  To  himself  it  was  the  only 
logical  outcome  of  his  long  period  of  thought.  He 
spoke  for  the  workingman.  He  demanded  inquiry, 
consideration,  experiment.  He  demanded  them  in  a 
way  of  his  own,  at  once  novel  and  convincing.  Many 
of  the  most  brilliant  articles  which  had  ever  come 
from  his  pen  he  abjured.  He  drew  a  sharp  line  be- 
tween the  province  of  the  student  and  the  duty  of 
the  politician. 

And  now  he  was  alone  at  last,  free  to  think  and  dream, 
free  to  think  of  Bonestre,  to  wonder  what  reports  of 
his  meeting  would  reach  the  little  French  watering- 
place,  and  how  they  would  be  received.  He  could  see 
Berenice  reading  the  morning  paper  in  the  little  grey 
courtyard,  with  the  pigeons  flying  above  her  head  and 
the  sunlight  streaming  across  the  flags.  He  could 
hear  Borrowdean's  sneer,  could  see  Lord  Redford's 


DISASTER  217 

shrug  of  the  shoulders.  There  is  little  sympathy  in 
the  world  for  the  man  who  dares  to  change  his 
mind. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  his  servant 
entered  with  a  tray. 

"I  have  brought  the  whiskey  and  soda,  sandwiches 
and  cigarettes,  sir,"  he  announced.  "I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  there  is  a  person  outside  whom  I  cannot  get 
rid  of.  His  name  is  Fardell,  and  he  insists  upon  it 
that  his  business  is  of  importance." 

Mannering  smiled. 

"You  can  show  him  up  at  once,"  he  ordered;  "now, 
and  whenever  he  calls." 

Fardell  appeared  almost  directly.  Mannering  had 
seen  him  before  during  the  day,  but  noticed  at  once  a 
change  in  him.  He  was  pale,  and  looked  like  a  man 
who  had  received  some  sort  of  a  shock. 

"Come  in,  Fardell,  and  sit  down,"  Mannering  said. 
"You  look  tired.  Have  a  drink." 

Fardell  walked  straight  to  the  tray  and  helped  him- 
self to  some  neat  whiskey. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "I — I've  had  rather  a 
knockout  blow." 

He  emptied  the  tumbler  and  set  it  down. 

"Mr.  Mannering,  sir,"  he  said,  "I've  just  heard  a 
man  bet  twenty  to  one  in  crisp  five-pound  bank-notes 
that  you  never  sit  for  West  Leeds." 

"Was  he  drunk  or  sober?"  Mannering  asked. 

"Sober  as  a  judge!" 

Mannering  smiled. 

"How  often  did  you  take  him?"  he  asked. 

"Not  once!    I  didn't  dare!" 

Mannering,  who  had  been  hi  the  act  of  helping  him- 


218  A  LOST  LEADER 

self  to  a  whiskey  and  soda,  looked  around  with  the 
decanter  in  his  hand. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said,  bewildered. 
"You  know  very  well  that  the  chances,  so  far  as 
they  can  be  reckoned  up,  are  slightly  in  my  favour." 

"They  were!"  Fardell  answered.  "Heaven  knows 
what  they  are  now." 

Mannering  was  a  little  annoyed.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  Fardell  must  have  been  drinking. 

"Do  you  mind  explaining  yourself?"  he  asked. 

"I  can  do  so,"  Fardell  answered.  "I  must  do  so. 
But  while  I  am  about  it  I  want  you  to  put  on  your 
hat  and  come  with  me." 

Mannering  laughed  shortly. 

"What,  to-night?"  he  exclaimed.  "No,  thank  you. 
Be  reasonable,  Fardell.  I've  had  my  day's  work,  and 
I  think  I  've  earned  a  little  rest.  To  be  frank  with 
you,  I  don't  like  mysteries.  If  you've  anything  to 
say,  out  with  it." 

"Right!"  Richard  Fardell  answered.  "I  am  going 
to  ask  you  a  question,  Mr.  Mannering.  Go  back  a 
good  many  years,  as  many  years  as  you  like.  Is  there 
anything  hi  your  life  as  a  younger  man,  say  when  you 
first  entered  Parliament,  which — if  it  were  brought  up 
against  you  now — might  be — embarrassing?" 

Mannering  did  not  answer  for  several  moments. 
He  was  already  pale  and  tired,  but  he  felt  what  little 
colour  remained  leave  his  face.  Least  of  all  he  had 
expected  this.  Even  now — what  could  the  man  mean? 
What  could  be  known? 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  you,"  he  said. 
"There  is  nothing  that  could  be  known!  I  am  sure 
of  that." 


DISASTER  219 

"There  is  a  person,"  Fardell  said,  slowly,  "who  has 
made  extraordinary  statements.  Our  opponents  have 
got  hold  of  him.  The  substance  of  them  is  this:  He 
says  that  many  years  ago  you  were  the  lover  of  a 
married  woman,  that  you  sold  her  husband  worthless 
shares  and  ruined  him,  and  that  finally — in  a  quarrel 
— he  declares  that  he  was  an  eye-witness  of  this — 
that  you  killed  him." 

Mannering  slowly  subsided  into  his  chair.  His 
cheeks  were  blanched.  Richard  Fardell  watched  him 
with  feverish  anxiety. 

"It  is  a  lie,"  Mannering  declared.  "There  is  no  man 
living  who  can  say  this." 

"The  -man  says,"  Fardell  continued,  stonily,  "that 
his  name  is  Parkins,  and  that  he  was  butler  to  Mr. 
Stephen  Phillimore  eleven  years  ago." 

"Parkins  is  dead!"  Mannering  said,  hoarsely.  "He 
has  been  dead  for  many  years." 

"He  is  living  in  Leeds  to-day,"  Fardell  answered. 
"A  journalist  from  the  Yorkshire  Herald  was  with 
him  for  two  hours  this  afternoon." 

"Blanche — I  was  told  that  he  was  dead,"  Manner- 
ing said. 

''Then  the  story  is  true?"  Fardell  asked. 

"Not  as  you  have  told  it,"  Mannering  answered. 

"There  is  truth  in  it?" 

"Yes." 

Richard  Fardell  was  silent  for  several  moments. 
He  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  his  eyebrows  contracted  into  a  heavy  frown.  For 
him  it  was  a  bitter  moment.  He  was  only  a  half- 
educated,  illiterate  man,  possessed  of  sturdy  common 
sense  and  a  wonderful  tenacity  of  purpose.  He  had 


220  A  LOST  LEADER 

permitted  himself  to  indulge  in  a  little  silent  but  none 
the  less  absolute  hero-worship,  and  Mannering  had  been 
the  hero. 

"You  must  come  with  me  at  once  and  see  this  man," 
he  said  at  last.  "He  has  not  yet  signed  his  statement. 
We  must  do  what  we  can  to  keep  him  quiet." 

Mannering  took  up  his  coat  and  hat  without  a  word. 
They  left  the  hotel,  and  Fardell  summoned  a  cab. 

"It  is  a  long  way,"  he  explained.  "We  will  drive 
part  of  the  distance  and  walk  the  rest.  We  may  be 
watched  already." 

Mannering  nodded.  The  last  blow  was  so  unex- 
pected that  he  felt  in  a  sense  numbed.  His  speech 
only  a  few  hours  ago  had  made  large  inroads  upon  his 
powers  of  endurance.  His  partial  recantation  had  cost 
him  many  hours  of  torture,  from  which  he  was  still 
suffering.  And  now,  without  the  slightest  warning, 
he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  crisis  far  graver, 
far  more  acute.  Never  in  his  most  gloomy  moments 
had  he  felt  any  real  fear  of  a  resurrection  of  the  past 
such  as  that  with  which  he  was  now  threatened.  It 
was  a  thunderbolt  from  a  clear  sky.  Even  now  he 
found  it  hard  to  persuade  himself  that  he  was  not 
dreaming. 

They  were  in  the  cab  for  nearly  half  an  hour  before 
Fardell  stopped  and  dismissed  it.  Then  they  walked 
up  and  down  and  across  streets  of  small  houses,  piti- 
less in  their  monotony,  squalid  and  depressing  hi  their 
ugliness. 

Finally  Fardell  stopped,  and  without  hesitation 
knocked  at  the  door  of  one  of  them.  It  was  opened 
by  a  man  in  shirt-sleeves,  holding  a  tallow  candle  in 
his  hand. 


DISASTER  221 

"What  yer  want?"  he  inquired,  suspiciously. 

"Your  lodger,"  Fardell  answered,  pushing  past  him 
and  drawing  Mannering  into  the  room.  "Where  is 
he?" 

The  man  jerked  his  thumb  upwards. 

"Where  he  won't  be  long,"  he  answered,  shortly. 
"The  likes  of  'im  having  visitors,  and  one  a  toff,  too. 
Say,  are  yer  going  to  pay  his  rent?" 

"We  may  do  that,"  Fardell  answered.  "Is  he  up- 
stairs?" 

"Ay!"  the  man  answered,  shuffling  away.  "Pay  'is 
rent,  and  yer  can  chuck  'im  out  of  the  winder,  if  yer 
like!" 

They  climbed  the  crazy  staircase.  Fardell  opened 
the  door  of  the  room  above  without  even  the  formality 
of  knocking.  An  old  man  sat  there,  bending  over  a 
table,  half  dressed.  Before  him  were  several  sheets  of 
paper, 

"I  believe  we're  in  time,"  Fardell  muttered,  half 
to  himself.  "Parkins,  is  that  you?"  he  asked,  in  a 
louder  tone. 

The  old  man  looked  up  and  blinked  at  them.  He 
shaded  his  eyes  with  one  hand.  The  other  he  laid 
flat  upon  the  papers  before  him.  He  was  old,  blear- 
eyed,  unkempt. 

"Is  that  Master  Ronaldson?"  he  asked,  in  a  thin, 
quavering  tone.  "I've  signed  'em,  sir.  Have  yer 
brought  the  money?  I'm  a  poor  old  man,  and  I  need 
a  drop  of  something  now  and  then  to  keep  the  life 
in  me.  If  yer'll  just  hand  over  a  trifle  I'll  send  out 
for — eh — eh,  my  landlord,  he's  a  kindly  man — he'll 
fetch  it.  Eh?  Two  of  yer!  I  don't  see  so  well  as  I 
did.  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Ronaldson,  sir?" 


222  A  LOST  LEADER 

Fardell  threw  some  silver  coins  upon  the  table.  The 
old  man  snatched  them  up  eagerly. 

"It's  not  Mr.  Ronaldson,"  he  said,  "but  I  daresay 
we  shall  do  as  well.  We  want  to  talk  to  you  about 
those  papers  there." 

The  old  man  nodded.  He  was  gazing  at  the  silver 
in  his  hand. 

"I've  writ  it  all  out,"  he  muttered.  "I  told  'un  I 
would.  A  pound  a  week  for  ten  years.  That's  what 
I  'ad!  And  then  it  stopped!  Did  she  mean  me  to 
starve,  eh?  Not  I!  John  Parkins  knows  better  nor 
that.  I've  writ  it  all  out,  and  there's  my  signature. 
It's  gospel  truth,  too." 

"We  are  going  to  buy  the  truth  from  you,"  Fardell 
said.  "  We  have  more  money  than  Ronaldson.  Don't 
be  afraid.  We  have  gold  to  spare  where  Ronaldson 
had  silver." 

The  old  man  lifted  the  candle  with  shaking  fingers. 
Then  it  dropped  with  a  crash  to  the  ground,  and  lay 
there  for  a  moment  spluttering.  He  shrank  back. 

"It's  'im!"  he  muttered.  "Don't  kill  me,  sir.  I 
mean  you  no  harm.  It's  Mr.  Mannering!" 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   JOURNALIST  INTERVENES 

THE  old  man  had  sunk  into  a  seat.  His  face  and 
hands  were  twitching  with  fear.  His  eyes,  as 
though  fascinated,  remained  fixed  upon  Mannering's. 
All  the  while  he  mumbled  to  himself.  Fardell  drew 
Mannering  a  little  on  one  side. 

"What  can  we  do  with  him?"  he  asked.  "We 
might  tear  up  those  sheets,  give  him  money,  keep  him 
soddened  with  drink.  And  even  then  he'd  give  the 
whole  show  away  the  moment  any  one  got  at  him.  It 
isn't  so  bad  as  he  makes  out,  I  suppose?" 

"It  is  not  so  bad  as  that,"  Mannering  answered, 
"but  it  is  bad  enough." 

"What  became  of  the  woman?"  Fardell  asked. 
"Parkins's  mistress,  I  mean?" 

"She  is  my  wife,"  Mannering  answered. 

Fardell  threw  out  his  hands  with  a  little  gesture  of 
despair. 

"We  must  get  him  away  from  here,"  he  said.  "If 
Polden  gets  hold  of  him  you  might  as  well  resign  at 
once.  It  is  dangerous  for  you  to  stay.  He  was 
evidently  expecting  that  fellow  Ronaldson  tonight." 

Mannering  nodded. 

"What  shall  you  do  with  him?"  he  asked. 

"Hide  him  if  I  can,"  Fardell  answered,  grimly. 
"If  I  can  get  him  out  of  this  place,  it  ought  not  to 


224  A  LOST  LEADER 

be  impossible.    The  most  important  thing  at  present 
is  for  you  to  get  away  without  being  recognized." 

Mannering  took  up  his  hat. 

"I  will  go,"  he  said.  "I  shall  leave  the  cab  for 
you.  I  can  find  my  way  back  to  the  hotel." 

Fardell  nodded. 

"It  would  be  better,"  he  said.  "Turn  your  coat- 
collar  up  and  draw  your  hat  down  over  your  eyes. 
You  mustn't  be  recognized  down  here.  It's  a  pretty 
low  part." 

Nevertheless,  Mannering  had  not  reached  the  corner 
of  the  street  before  he  heard  hasty  footsteps  behind 
him,  and  felt  a  light  touch  upon  his  shoulder.  He 
turned  sharply  round. 

"Well,  sir!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  do  you  want  with 
me?" 

The  newcomer  was  a  tall,  thin  young  man,  wearing 
glasses,  and  although  he  was  a  complete  stranger  to 
Mannering,  he  knew  at  once  who  he  was. 

"Mr.  Mannering,  I  believe?"  he  said,  quickly. 

"What  has  my  name  to  do  with  you,  sir?"  Manner- 
ing answered,  coldly. 

"Mine  is  Ronaldson,"  the  young  man  answered.  "I 
am  a  reporter." 

Mannering  regarded  him  steadily  for  a  moment. 

"You  are  the  young  man,  then,"  he  said,  "who  has 
discovered  the  mare's  nest  of  my  iniquity." 

<;If  it  is  a  mare's  nest,"  the  young  man  answered, 
briskly,  "I  shall  be  quite  as  much  relieved  as  dis- 
appointed. But  your  being  down  here  doesn't  look 
very  much  like  that,  does  it?" 

"No  man,"  Mannering  answered,  "hears  that  a 
bomb  is  going  to  be  thrown  at  him  without  a  certain 


THE  JOURNALIST  INTERVENES         225 

amount  of  curiosity  as  to  its  nature.  I  have  been  down 
to  examine  the  bomb.  Frankly,  I  don't  think  much 
of  it." 

"You  are  prepared,  then,  to  deny  this  man  Parkins's 
story?"  the  reporter  asked. 

"I  am  prepared  to  have  a  shot  at  your  paper  for 
libel,  anyhow,  if  you  use  it,"  Mannering  answered. 

"Do  you  know  the  substance  of  his  communication?" 

"I  can  make  a  pretty  good  guess  at  it,"  Mannering 
answered. 

"You  really  mean  to  deny  it,  then?"  the  reporter 
asked. 

"Assuredly,  for  it  is  not  true,"  Mannering  answered. 
"Pray  don't  let  me  detain  you  any  longer!" 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away,  but  the 
reporter  kept  pace  with  him. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  but  this  is  a  very  serious 
affair,  Mr.  Mannering,"  he  said.  "Serious  for  both 
of  us.  Do  you  mind  discussing  it  with  me?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  Mannering  answered,  "so  long 
as  you  permit  me  to  continue  my  way  homewards." 

"I  will  walk  with  you,  sir,  if  you  don't  mind,"  the 
reporter  said.  "It  is  a  very  serious  matter  indeed, 
this!  My  people  are  as  keen  as  possible  to  make  use 
of  it.  If  they  do,  and  it  turns  out  a  true  story,  you, 
of  course,  will  never  sit  for  Leeds.  And  if  on  the 
other  hand  it  is  false,  I  shall  get  the  sack!" 

"Well,  it  is  false,"  Mannering  said. 

"Some  parts  of  it,  perhaps,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered, smoothly.  "Not  all,  Mr.  Mannering." 

"Old  men  are  garrulous,"  Mannering  remarked.  "I 
expect  you  will  find  that  your  friend  has  been  letting 
his  tongue  run  away  with  him." 


226  A  LOST  LEADER 

"He  has  committed  his  statements  to  paper,"  Ron- 
aldson  remarked. 

"And  signed  them?" 

"He  is  willing  to  do  so,"  the  reporter  answered. 
"I  was  to  have  fetched  them  away  to-night." 

"You  may  be  a  little  late,"  Mannering  remarked. 

The  double  entente  in  his  tone  did  not  escape  Ron- 
aldson's  notice.  He  stopped  short  on  the  pavement. 

"So  you  have  bought  him,"  he  remarked. 

Mannering  glanced  at  him  superciliously. 

"Will  you  pardon  me,"  he  said,  "if  I  remark  that 
this  conversation  has  no  particular  interest  for  me? 
Don't  let  me  bring  you  any  further  out  of  your  way." 

Ronaldson  took  off  his  hat. 

"Very  good,  sir,"  he  remarked.  "I  will  wish  you 
good-night!" 

Mannering  pursued  his  way  homeward  with  the 
briefest  of  farewells.  The  young  reporter  retraced 
his  steps.  Arrived  at  Parkins's  lodgings  he  mounted 
the  stairs,  and  found  the  room  empty.  He  returned 
and  interviewed  the  landlord.  From  him  he  only 
learned  that  Parkins  had  departed  with  one  of  two 
gentlemen  who  had  come  to  see  him  that  evening,  and 
that  they  had  paid  his  rent  for  him.  The  reporter 
was  obliged  to  depart  with  no  more  satisfactory  in- 
formation. But  next  morning,  before  nine  o'clock, 
he  was  waiting  to  see  Mannering,  and  would  not  be 
denied.  He  was  accompanied,  too,  by  a  person  of 
no  less  importance  than  the  editor  of  the  Yorkshire 
Herald  himself. 

Mannering  kept  them  waiting  an  hour,  and  then 
received  them  coolly. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Polden,"  he  said,  glancing 


THE  JOURNALIST  INTERVENES         227 

at  the  editor's  card.  "I  have  already  had  some  con- 
versation with  our  young  friend  there,"  he  added, 
glancing  towards  the  reporter.  "What  can  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  doing  for  you?" 

Mr.  Polden  produced  a  sheet  of  proofs  from  his  pocket. 
He  passed  them  over  to  Mannering. 

"I  should  like  you  to  examine  these,  sir,"  he  said. 

"In  type  already!"  Mannering  remarked,  calmly. 

"In  proof  for  our  evening's  issue,"  Polden  answered. 

Mannering  read  them  through. 

"It  will  cost  you  several  thousand  pounds!"  he  said. 

"Then  the  money  will  be  well  spent,"  Polden  an- 
swered. "No  one  has  a  higher  regard  for  you  poli- 
tically than  I  have,  Mr.  Mannering,  but  we  don't  want 
you  as  member  for  West  Leeds.  That's  all!" 

"It  happens,"  Mannering  said,  "that  I  am  particu- 
larly anxious  to  sit  for  West  Leeds." 

"You  will  go  on — in  the  face  of  this?"  the  editor 
asked  Mannering. 

"Yes,  and  with  the  suit  for  libel  which  will  follow," 
Mannering  answered. 

The  editor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Do  me  the  favour  to  believe,  Mr.  Mannering,"  he 
said,  "that  we  have  not  gone  into  this  matter  blindfold. 
We  had  a  preliminary  intimation  as  to  this  affair  from 
a  person  whose  word  carries  considerable  weight,  and 
our  investigations  have  been  searching.  I  will  admit 
that  the  disappearance  of  the  man  Parkins  is  a  little 
awkward  for  us,  but  we  have  ample  justification  in 
publishing  his  story." 

"I  trust  for  your  sakes  that  the  law  courts  will  sup- 
port your  views,"  Mannering  said,  coldly.  "I  scarcely 
think  it  likely." 


228  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Mr.  Mannering,"  Polden  said,  "I  quite  appreciate 
your  attitude,  but  do  you  really  think  it  is  a  wise 
one?  I  very  much  regret  that  it  should  have  been 
our  duty  to  unearth  this  unsavoury  story,  and  having 
unearthed  it,  to  use  it.  But  you  must  remember  that 
the  issue  on  hand  is  a  great  one.  I  belong  to  the  Liberal 
party  and  the  absolute  Free  Traders,  and  I  consider 
that  for  this  city  to  be  represented  by  any  one  who 
shows  the  least  indication  of  being  unsafe  upon  this 
question  would  be  a  national  disaster  and  a  local  dis- 
grace. I  want  you  to  understand,  therefore,  that  I  am 
not  playing  a  game  of  bluff.  The  proofs  you  hold  in 
your  hand  have  been  set  and  corrected.  Within  a 
few  hours  the  story  will  stand  out  in  black  and  white. 
Are  you  prepared  for  this?" 

Mannering  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  am  not  prepared  to  resign  my  candidature,  if 
that  is  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "I  presume  that 
nothing  short  of  that  will  satisfy  you?" 

"Nothing,"  the  editor  answered,  firmly. 

"Then  there  remains  nothing  more,"  Mannering 
remarked,  coldly,  "than  for  me  to  wish  you  a  very 
good-morning." 

"I  am  sorry,"  Mr.  Polden  said.  "I  trust  you  will 
believe,  Mr.  Mannering,  that  I  find  this  a  very  un- 
pleasant duty." 

Mannering  made  no  answer  save  a  slight  bow.  He 
held  open  the  door,  and  Mr.  Polden  and  his  satellite 
passed  out.  Afterwards  he  strolled  to  the  window 
and  looked  down  idly  upon  the  crowd. 

"If  I  act  in  accordance  with  the  conventions,"  he  mur- 
mured to  himself,  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  take  a  glass  of 
poison,  or  blow  my  brains  out.  Instead  of  which— 


229 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  rang  for  his  hat  and 
coat.  He  was  due  at  one  of  the  great  foundries  in 
half  an  hour  to  speak  to  the  men  during  their  luncheon 
interval. 

"Instead  of  which/'  he  muttered,  as  he  lit  a  cigar- 
ette, "I  shall  go  on  to  the  end." 


CHAPTER  VI 

TREACHERY   AND   A   TELEGRAM 

THE  sunlight  streamed  down  into  the  little  grey 
courtyard  of  the  Leon  D'or  at  Bonestre.  Sir 
Leslie  Borrowdean,  in  an  immaculate  grey  suit,  and 
with  a  carefully  chosen  pink  carnation  in  Ills  button- 
hole, sat  alone  at  a  small  table  having  his  morning 
coffee.  His  attention  was  divided  between  a  copy 
of  the  Figaro  and  a  little  pile  of  letters  and  telegrams 
on  the  other  side  of  his  plate.  More  than  once  he 
glanced  at  the  topmost  of  the  latter  and  smiled. 

Mrs.  Mannering  and  Hester  came  down  the  grey 
stone  steps  and  crossed  towards  their  own  table.  The 
former  lingered  for  a  moment  as  she  passed  Sir  Leslie, 
who  rose  to  greet  the  two  women. 

"Another  glorious  day!"  he  remarked.  "What  news 
from  Leeds?" 

"None,"  she  said.    "My  husband  seldom  writes." 

Sir  Leslie  smiled  reflectively,  and  glanced  towards 
the  pile  of  papers  at  his  side. 

"Perhaps,"  she  remarked,  "you  know  better  than 
I  do  how  things  are  going  there." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  no  correspondents  in  Leeds,"  he  answered. 

At  that  moment  a  puff  of  wind  disturbed  the  papers 
by  his  side.  A  telegram  would  have  fluttered  away, 
but  Blanche  Mannering  caught  it  at  the  edge  of  the 
table.  She  was  handing  it  back,  when  a  curious  ex- 


TREACHERY  AND  A  TELEGRAM         231 

pression  on  Borrowdean's  face  inspired  her  with  a 
sudden  idea.  She  deliberately  looked  at  the  tele- 
gram, and  her  fingers  stiffened  upon  it.  His  forward 
movement  was  checked.  She  stood  just  out  of  his 
reach. 

"No  correspondents  in  Leeds,"  she  repeated.  "Then 
what  about  this  telegram?" 

"You  will  permit  me  to  remind  you,"  he  said,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  for  it,  "that  it  is  addressed  to  me." 

Her  hands  were  behind  her.  She  leaned  over  towards 
him. 

"It  can  be  addressed  to  you  a  thousand  times  over," 
she  answered,  "but  before  I  part  with  it  I  want  to 
know  what  it  means." 

Borrowdean  was  thinking  quickly.  He  wanted  to 
gain  time. 

"I  do  not  even  know  which  document  you  have — 
purloined,"  he  said. 

"It  is  from  Leeds,"  she  answered,  "and  it  is  signed 
Tolclen'.     Tarkins  found,   has  made   statement,   ap- 
pears to-night.'     Can  you  explain  what  this  means, 
Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean?" 

Her  voice  was  scarcely  raised  above  a  whisper,  but 
there  was  a  dangerous  glitter  in  her  eyes.  There  were 
few  traces  left  of  the  woman  whom  once  before  he  had 
found  so  easy  a  tool. 

"I  cannot  tell  you,"  he  answered.  "It  is  not  an 
affair  for  you  to  concern  yourself  with  at  all." 

"Not  an  affair  for  me  to  concern  myself  about!" 
she  repeated,  leaning  a  little  over  towards  him.  "Isn't 
it  my  husband  against  whom  you  are  scheming?  Don't 
I  know  what  low  tricks  you  are  capable  of?  Isn't 
this  another  proof  of  it?  Not  an  affair  for  me  to 


232  A  LOST  LEADER 

concern  myself  about,  indeed!  Didn't  you  worm  the 
whole  miserable  story  out  of  me?" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Mannering!" 

She  checked  a  torrent  of  words.  Her  bosom  was 
heaving  underneath  her  lace  blouse.  She  was  pale 
almost  to  the  lips.  The  sudden  and  complete  disuse 
of  all  manner  of  cosmetics  had  to  a  certain  extent 
blanched  her  face.  There  was  room  there  now  for 
the  writing  of  tragedy.  Borrowdean,  still  outwardly 
suave,  was  inwardly  cursing  the  unlucky  chance  which 
had  blown  the  telegram  her  way. 

"Might  I  suggest,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "that  we 
postpone  our  conversation  till  after  breakfast  tune? 
The  waiters  seem  to  be  favouring  us  with  a  great  deal 
of  attention,  and  several  of  them  understand  English." 

She  did  not  even  turn  her  head.  Thinner  a  good 
deal  since  her  marriage,  she  seemed  to  him  to  have 
grown  taller,  to  have  gamed  in  dignity  and  presence, 
as  she  stood  there  before  him,  her  angry  eyes  fixed 
upon  his  face.  She  was  no  longer  a  person  to  be 
ignored. 

"You  must  tell  me  about  this — or " 

"Or?"  he  repeated,  stonily. 

"Or  I  will  make  a  public  statement,"  she  answered. 
"If  you  ruin  my  husband's  career,  I  can  at  least  do 
the  same  with  yours.  Politics  is  supposed  to  be  a  game 
for  honourable  men  to  play  with  honourable  weapons. 
I  wonder  if  Lord  Redford  would  approve  of  your 
methods?" 

"You  can  go  and  ask  him,  my  dear  madam,"  he 
answered.  "I  am  perfectly  ready  to  defend  myself." 

"Defend!  You  have  no  defence,"  she  answered. 
"Can  you  deny  that  you  are  plotting  to  keep  my 


TREACHERY  AND  A  TELEGRAM    233 

husband  out  of  Parliament  now,  just  as  a  few  months 
ago  you  plotted  to  bring  him  back?  You  are  making 
use  of  a  personal  secret,  a  forgotten  chapter  of  his  Me, 
to  move  him  about  like  a  puppet  to  do  your  will." 

"I  work  for  the  good  of  a  cause  and  a  great  party," 
he  answered.  "You  do  not  understand  these  things." 

"I  understand  you  so  far  as  this,"  she  answered. 
"You  are  one  of  those  to  whom  life  is  a  chessboard, 
and  your  one  aim  is  to  make  the  pieces  work  for  you, 
and  at  your  bidding,  till  you  sit  in  the  place  you 
covet.  There  isn't  much  of  the  patriot  about  you,  Sir 
Leslie  Borrowdean." 

He  glanced  down  at  his  unfinished  breakfast.  He 
had  the  air  of  one  who  is  a  little  bored. 

"My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "is  this  discussion  really 
worth  while?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  bluntly,  "it  isn't.  You  are 
quite  right.  We  are  wandering  from  the  subject." 

"Let  us  talk,"  he  suggested,  "after  breakfast.  Give 
me  back  that  telegram  now,  and  I  will  explain  it,  say, 
in  the  garden  in  half  an  hour.  I  detest  cold  coffee." 

"You  can  do  like  me,  order  some  fresh,"  she  said. 
"If  I  let  you  out  of  my  sight  I  know  very  well  how 
much  I  shall  see  of  you  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  Explain 
now  if  you  can.  What  does  that  telegram  mean?" 

"Surely  it  is  obvious  enough,"  he  answered.  "The 
man  Parkins,  whom  you  told  me  was  dead,  is  alive 
and  in  Leeds.  He  has  seen  Mannering's  name  about, 
has  been  talking,  and  the  press  have  got  hold  of  his 
story.  I  am  sorry,  but  there  was  always  this  possi- 
bility, wasn't  there?" 

"And  this  telegram?"  she  asked. 

"I  know  Polden,  the  editor  of  the  paper,  and  he 


234  A  LOST  LEADER 

referred  to  me  to  know  if  there  could  be  any  truth 
in  it." 

"These  are  lies!"  she  declared.  "You  were  the 
instigator.  You  set  them  on  the  track." 

"I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  Borrowdean  de- 
clared, coldly. 

"I  have,"  she  said.  "I  shall  take  this  telegram 
to  Lord  Redford.  I  shall  tell  him  everything!" 

A  faint  smile  flickered  upon  Borrowdean's  lips. 

"Lord  Redford  would,  I  am  sure,  be  charmed  to 
hear  your  story,"  he  remarked.  "Unfortunately  he 
started  for  Dieppe  this  morning  before  eight  o'clock, 
and  will  not  be  back  until  to-morrow." 

"And  to-morrow  will  be  too  late,"  she  added,  rapidly 
pursuing  his  tram  of  thought.  "Then  I  will  try  the 
Duchess!" 

He  started  very  slightly,  but  she  saw  it. 

"Sit  down  for  a  moment,  Mrs.  Mannering,"  he  said. 

She  accepted  the  chair  he  placed  for  her.  There 
was  a  distinct  change  in  his  manner.  He  realized 
that  this  woman  held  a  trump  card  against  him.  Even 
in  her  hands  it  might  mean  disaster. 

"Blanche "  he  began. 

"Thank  you,"  she  interrupted,  "I  prefer  'Mrs.  Man- 
nering.' ' 

He  bit  his  lips  hi  annoyance. 

"Mrs.  Mannering,  then,"  he  continued,  "we  have 
been  allies  before,  and  I  think  that  you  will  admit 
that  I  have  always  kept  faith  with  you.  I  don't  see 
any  reason  why  we  should  play  at  being  enemies.  You 
have  a  price,  I  suppose,  for  that  telegram  and  your 
silence.  Name  it." 

She  nodded. 


235 

"Yes,  I  have  a  price/'  she  admitted. 

"Remember  that,  after  all,  this  is  not  a  great 
issue,"  he  said.  "If  your  husband  does  not  get  in  for 
Leeds  he  will  probably  find  a  seat  somewhere  else." 

"That  is  false,"  she  answered,  "If  your  man  Polden 
publishes  Parkins's  story  my  husband's  political  career 
is  over,  and  you  know  it.  Do  keep  as  near  to  the 
truth  as  you  can." 

"I  will  give  you,"  he  said,  "five  hundred  pounds 
for  that  telegram  and  your  silence." 

She  rose  slowly  to  her  feet.  A  dull  flush  of  colour 
mounted  almost  to  her  eyes.  Borrowdean  watched 
her  anxiously.  Then  for  a  moment  came  an  inter- 
ruption. The  Duchess  was  descending  the  grey  stone 
steps  from  the  hotel. 

She  had  addressed  some  word  of  greeting  to  them. 
They  both  turned  towards  her.  She  wore  a  white 
serge  dress,  and  she  carried  a  white  lace  parasol  over 
her  bare  head.  She  moved  towards  them  with  her 
usual  languid  grace,  followed  by  her  maid  carrying 
a  tiny  Maltese  dog  and  a  budget  of  letters.  The  loiter- 
rers  in  the  courtyard  stared  at  her  with  admiration. 
It  was  impossible  to  mistake  her  for  anything  but  a 
great  lady. 

"You  have  the  air  of  conspirators,  you  two!"  she 
said,  as  she  approached  them.  "Is  it  an  expedition 
for  the  day  that  you  are  planning?" 

Blanche  Mannering  turned  her  back  upon  Borrow- 
dean. 

"Sir  Leslie,"  she  said,  "has  just  offered  me  five 
hundred  pounds  for  a  telegram  which  I  have  here 
and  for  my  silence  concerning  its  contents.  I  was 
wondering  whether  he  had  bid  high  enough." 


236  A  LOST  LEADER 

The  Duchess  looked  from  one  to  the  other.  She 
almost  permitted  herself  to  be  astonished.  Borrow- 
dean's  face  was  dark  with  anger.  Blanche  Mannering's 
apparent  calmness  was  obviously  of  the  surface  only. 

"Are  you  serious?"  she  asked. 

"Miserably  so!"  Blanche  answered.  "Sir  Leslie 
has  strange  ideas  of  honour,  I  find.  He  is  making 
use  of  a  story  which  I  told  him  once  concerning  my 
husband,  to  drive  him  out  of  political  life.  Duchess, 
will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  let  me  talk  with  you  for 
five  minutes,  and  to  make  Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean  prom- 
ise not  to  leave  this  hotel  till  you  have  seen  him  again?" 

"I  have  no  intention  of  leaving  the  hotel,"  Sir  Leslie 
said,  stiffly. 

Berenice  pointed  to  her  table. 

"Come  and  take  your  coffee  with  me,  Mrs.  Man- 
nering,"  she  said. 

Mannering  passed  through  the  day  like  a  man  in  a 
nightmare.  He  addressed  two  meetings  of  working- 
men,  and  interviewed  half  a  dozen  of  his  workers. 
At  midday  the  afternoon  edition  of  the  Yorkshire 
Herald  was  being  sold  in  the  streets.  He  bought  a 
copy  and  glanced  it  feverishly  through.  Nothing! 
He  lunched  and  went  on  with  his  work.  At  three 
o'clock  a  second  edition  was  out.  Again  he  purchased 
a  copy,  and  again  there  was  nothing.  The  suspense 
was  getting  worse  even  than  the  disaster  itself.  Be- 
tween four  and  five  they  brought  him  in  a  telegram. 
He  tore  it  open,  and  found  that  it  was  from  Bonestre. 
The  words  seemed  to  stare  up  at  him  from  the  pink 
form.  It  was  incredible : 

"  Polden  muzzled.    Go  in  and  win." 


TREACHERY  AND  A  TELEGRAM         237 

The  form  fluttered  from  his  fingers  on  to  the  floor 
of  his  sitting-room.  He  stood  looking  at  it,  dazed. 
Outside,  a  mob  of  people,  standing  round  his  carriage, 
were  shouting  his  name. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MR.   MANNERING,   M.P. 

MANNERING  threw  up  his  window  with  a  sigh 
of  immense  relief.  The  air  was  cold  and  fresh. 
The  land,  as  yet  unwarmed  by  the  slowly  rising  sun, 
was  hung  with  a  faint  autumn  mist.  Traces  of  an 
early  frost  lay  in  the  brown  hedgerows  inland;  the 
sea  was  like  a  sheet  of  polished  glass.  Gone  the  smoke- 
stained  rows  of  shapeless  houses,  the  atmosphere  pol- 
luted by  a  thousand  chimneys  belching  smuts  and  black 
vapour,  the  clanging  of  electric  cars,  the  rattle  of  all 
manner  of  vehicles  over  the  cobbled  streets.  Gone 
the  hoarse  excitement  of  the  shouting  mobs,  the  poison- 
ous atmosphere  of  close  rooms,  all  the  turmoil  and 
racket  and  anxiety  of  those  fighting  days.  He  was 
back  again  in  Bonestre.  Below  in  the  courtyard  the 
white  cockatoo  was  screaming.  The  waiters  in  their 
linen  coats  were  preparing  the  tables  for  the  few  remain- 
ing guests.  And  the  other  things  were  of  yesterday! 

Mannering  had  arrived  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
unexpectedly,  and  his  appearance  was  a  surprise  to 
every  one.  He  had  knocked  at  his  wife's  door  on 
his  way  downstairs,  but  Blanche  had  taken  to  early 
rising,  and  was  already  down.  He  found  them  all 
breakfasting  together  in  a  sheltered  corner  of  the 
courtyard. 

Berenice,  after  the  usual  greetings  and  explana- 
tions, smiled  at  him  thoughtfully. 


MR.  MANNERING,  M.P.  239 

"I  am  not  sure,"  she  said,  "whether  I  ought  to 
congratulate  you  or  not.  Sir  Leslie  here  thinks  that 
you  mean  mischief!" 

"Only  on  the  principle,"  Borrowdean  said,  "that 
whoever  is  not  with  us  is  against  us." 

"We  are  all  agreed  upon  one  thing,"  Berenice  said. 
"It  was  your  last  speech,  the  one  the  night  before 
the  election,  which  carried  you  in.  A  national  party 
indeed!  A  legislator,  not  a  politician!  You  talked 
to  those  canny  Yorkshiremen  with  your  head  in  the 
clouds,  and  yet  they  listened." 

Mannering  smiled  as  he  poured  out  his  coffee. 

"I  talked  common  sense  to  them,"  he  remarked,  "and 
Yorkshiremen  like  that.  We  have  been  slaves  to  the 
old-fashioned  idea  of  party  Government  long  enough. 
It's  an  absurd  thing  when  you  come  to  think  of  it. 
Fancy  a  great  business  being  carried  on  by  a  board 
of  partners  of  divergent  views,  and  unable  to  make  a 
purchase  or  a  sale  or  effect  any  change  whatever  with- 
out talking  the  whole  thing  threadbare,  and  then  voting 
upon  it.  The  business  would  go  down,  of  course!" 

"Party  Government,"  Borrowdean  declared,  "is  the 
natural  evolution  of  any  republican  form  of  admin- 
istration. A  nation  that  chooses  its  own  represen- 
tatives must  select  them  from  its  varying  standpoint." 

"Their  views  may  differ  slightly  upon  some  mat- 
ters," Mannering  said,  "but  their  first  duty  should 
be  to  come  into  accord  with  one  another.  It  is  a 
matter  for  compromises,  of  course.  The  real  dif- 
ferences between  intelligent  men  of  either  party  are 
very  slight.  The  trouble  is  that  under  the  present 
system  everything  is  done  to  increase  them  instead  of 
bridging  them  over." 


240  A  LOST  LEADER 

"If  you  had  to  form  a  Government,  then,"  Berenice 
asked,  "you  would  not  choose  the  members  from  one 
party?" 

"Certainly  not,"  Mannering  answered.  "Supposing 
I  were  the  owner  of  Redford's  car  there,  and  wanted 
a  driver.  I  should  simply  try  to  get  the  best  man  I 
could,  and  I  should  certainly  not  worry  as  to  whether 
he  were,  say,  a  churchman  or  a  dissenter.  The 
best  man  for  the  post  is  what  the  country  has  a 
right  to  expect,  whatever  he  may  call  himself,  and  the 
country  doesn't  get  it.  The  people  pay  the  piper,  and 
I  consider  that  they  get  shocking  bad  value  for  their 
money.  The  Boer  War,  for  instance,  would  have  cost 
us  less  than  half  as  much  if  we  had  had  the  right  men 
to  direct  the  commercial  side  of  it.  That  money 
would  have  been  useful  in  the  country  just  now." 

"An  absolute  monarchy,"  Hester  said,  smiling, 
"would  be  really  the  most  logical  form  of  Govern- 
ment, then?  But  would  it  answer?" 

"Why  not?"  Borrowdean  asked.  "If  the  monarch 
were  incapable  he  would  of  course  be  shot!" 

"A  dictator "  Berenice  began,  but  Mannering  held 

out  his  hands,  laughing. 

"Think  of  my  last  few  days,  and  spare  me!"  he 
begged.  "I  have  thirty-six  hours'  holiday.  How  do 
you  people  spend  your  tune  here?" 

Berenice  took  him  away  with  her  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Blanche  watched  them  depart  with  a  curious 
tightening  of  the  lips.  She  was  standing  alone  in  the 
gateway  of  the  hotel,  and  she  watched  them  until 
they  were  out  of  sight.  Borrowdean,  sauntering  out 
to  buy  some  papers,  paused  for  a  moment  as  he 
passed. 


MR.  MANNERING,  M.P.  241 

"Your  husband,  Mrs.  Mannering,"  he  said,  drily, 
"is  a  very  fortunate  man." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  Borrowdean  passed  on. 
Hester  came  out  with  a  message  from  Lady  Redford — 
would  Mrs.  Mannering  care  to  motor  over  to  Berneval 
for  luncheon?  Blanche  shook  her  head.  She  scarcely 
heard  the  invitation.  She  was  still  watching  the  two 
figures  disappearing  in  the  distance.  Hester  under- 
stood, but  she  spoke  lightly. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  "that  the  Duchess  still  has 
hopes  of  Mr.  Mannering." 

"She  is  a  persistent  woman,"  Blanche  answered. 
"They  say  that  she  generally  succeeds.  Let  us  go  in." 

Berenice  was  listening  to  Mannering's  account  of 
his  last  few  days'  electioneering. 

"The  whole  affair  came  upon  me  like  a  thunder- 
clap," he  told  her.  "Richard  Fardell  found  it  out 
somehow,  and  he  took  me  to  see  Parkins.  But  it  was 
too  late.  Polden  had  hold  of  the  story  and  meant  to 
use  it.  I  never  imagined  but  that  Parkins  had  been 
talking  and  this  journalist  had  got  hold  of  him  by 
accident.  Now  I  understand  that  it  was  Borrowdean 
who  was  pulling  the  strings." 

She  nodded. 

"He  traced  Parkins  out  some  tune  ago,  and  knew 
exactly  where  he  was  to  be  found." 

"I  think,"  Mannering  said,  "that  it  is  tune  Borrow- 
dean and  I  came  to  some  understanding.  I  haven't 
said  anything  about  it  yet.  I  don't  exactly  Iftiow 
what  to  say  now.  You  are  a  very  generous  woman." 

She  sighed. 

"No,"   she  said,   "I   don't  think   that.    Sir  Leslie 


242  A  LOST  LEADER 

is  a  schemer  of  the  class  I  detest.  I  listened  to  him 
once,  and  I  have  regretted  it  ever  since.  Yet  you 
must  remember  this!  If  it  had  not  been  for  him 
you  would  have  been  at  Blakely  to-day." 

His  thoughts  carried  him  backwards  with  a  rush. 
Once  more  the  thrall  of  that  quiet  life  of  passionless 
sweetness  held  him.  He  looked  back  upon  it  curi- 
ously, as  a  man  who  has  passed  into  another  country. 
Days  of  physical  exaltation,  alone  with  the  sun  and 
the  wind  and  all  the  murmuring  voices  of  Nature,  God's 
life  he  had  called  it  then.  And  now!  The  stress  of 
battle  was  hard  upon  him.  He  was  fighting  in  the 
front  ranks,  a  somewhat  cheerless  battle,  fighting  for 
great  causes  with  inefficient  weapons.  But  he  could 
not  go  back.  Life  had  become  a  more  strenuous,  a 
more  vital,  a  less  beautiful  thing!  He  felt  himself 
ageing.  All  the  inevitable  sadness  of  the  man  in  touch 
with  the  world's  great  problems  was  in  his  heart.  But 
he  could  not  go  back. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  quietly,  "I  owe  that  much  to  Bor- 
rowdean." 

"There  is  a  question,"  she  said,  "which  I  have 
wanted  to  ask  you.  Do  you  regret,  or  are  you  glad 
to  have  been  forced  out  once  more  upon  the  world's 
stage?" 

He  smiled. 

"How  can  I  answer  you?"  he  asked.  "At  Blakely 
I  was  as  happy  as  I  knew  how  to  be,  and  until 
you  came  I  was  content!  But  to-day,  well,  there  are 
different  things.  How  can  I  answer  your  question, 
indeed?  Tell  me  what  happiness  means!  Tell  me 
whether  it  is  an  ignoble  or  a  praiseworthy  state!" 

Berenice  was  silent.    Into  her  face  there  had  come 


MR.  MANNERING,  M.P.  243 

a  sudden  gravity.  Mannering,  glancing  towards  her, 
was  at  once  conscious  of  the  change.  He  saw  the 
weariness  so  often  and  zealously  repressed,  the  ageing 
of  her  face,  the  sudden  triumph  of  the  despair  which 
in  the  quiet  moments  chilled  her  heart.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  for  that  moment  they  had  come  into 
some  closer  communion.  He  bent  over  towards  her. 

"Ah!"  he  murmured,  "you,  too,  are  beginning  to 
understand.  Happiness  is  only  for  the  ignorant. 
For  you  and  for  me  knowledge  has  eaten  its  way 
too  far  into  our  lives.  We  climb  all  the  while,  but 
the  flowers  in  the  meadows  are  the  fairest." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"The  little  white  flower  which  grows  in  the  moun- 
tains is  what  we  must  always  seek,"  she  answered. 
"The  meadows  are  for  the  others." 

"We  are  accursed  with  this  knowledge,  and  the 
desire  for  it,"  he  declared,  fiercely.  "The  suffering 
is  for  us,  and  the  joy  for  the  beasts  of  the  field. 
Why  not  throw  down  the  cards?  We  are  the  devil's 
puppets  in  this  game  of  life." 

"There  is  no  place  for  us  down  there,"  she  answered, 
sadly.  "There  is  joy  enough  for  them,  because  the 
finger  has  never  touched  their  eyes.  But  for  us — no, 
we  have  to  go  on!  I  was  a  foolish  woman,  Lawrence. 
I  lost  my  sense  of  proportion.  Traditions,  you  see, 
were  hard  to  break  away  from.  I  did  not  understand. 
Let  this  be  the  end  of  all  mention  of  such  things 
between  us.  We  have  missed  the  turning,  and  we 
must  go  on.  That  is  the  hardest  thing  in  life.  One 
can  never  retrace  one's  steps." 

"We  go  on— apart?" 

"We  must,"  she  said.     "Don't  think  me  prejudiced, 


244  A  LOST  LEADER 

Lawrence.  I  must  stand  by  my  party.  Theoreti- 
cally, I  think  that  you  are  the  only  logical  politician 
I  have  ever  known.  Actually,  I  think  that  you  are 
steering  your  course  towards  the  sandbanks.  You 
will  fail,  but  you  will  fail  magnificently.  Well,  that 
is  something." 

"It  is  a  good  deal,"  he  answered,  "but  if  I  live  long 
enough,  and  my  strength  remains,  I  shall  succeed.  I 
shall  place  the  Government  of  this  country  upon  an 
altogether  different  basis.  I  shall  empty  the  work- 
houses and  fill  the  factories.  Nothing  short  of  that 
will  content  me.  Nothing  short  of  that  would  content 
any  man  upon  whose  shoulders  the  burden  has  fallen." 

"You  have  centuries  of  prejudice  to  fight,"  she 
warned  him.  "You  may  not  succeed!  Yet  you  have 
all  my  good  wishes.  I  shall  always  watch  you." 

They  turned  homeward  in  silence.  All  that  had 
passed  between  them  seemed  to  be  already  far  back 
in  the  past.  Their  retrogression  seemed  almost  sym- 
bolical. They  spoke  of  indifferent  things. 

"Tell  me,"  he  asked,  "how  you  came  to  know  what 
was  going  on  in  Leeds." 

"It  was  your  wife,"  she  said,  "who  discovered  it!" 

"My  wife?" 

"She  saw  a  telegram  on  Sir  Leslie's  table  at  break- 
fast, a  telegram  from  the  man  Polden.  She  read  it 
and  demanded  an  explanation.  Sir  Leslie  tried  all 
he  could  to  wriggle  out  of  it,  but  in  vain.  She  ap- 
pealed to  me.  Even  I  had  a  great  deal  of  difficulty 
in  dealing  with  him,  but  eventually  he  gave  way." 

"Then  the  telegram,"  Mannering  asked,  "wasn't 
that  from  you?" 

She  shook  her  head. 


MR.  MANNERING,  M.P.  245 

"It  was  from  your  wife,"  she  said.  "I  cannot  take 
much  credit  for  myself.  It  is  she  whom  you  must 
thank  for  your  election.  I  came  out  at  rather  a  dra- 
matic moment.  Sir  Leslie  had  just  offered  her  money, 
five  hundred  pounds,  I  think,  to  give  him  back  his 
telegram  and  say  nothing.  She  appealed  to  me  at 
once,  and  Sir  Leslie  looked  positively  foolish." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  telling  me,"  Man- 
nering  muttered.  He  remembered  now  that  he  had 
scarcely  spoken  a  dozen  words  to  his  wife  since  his 
return. 

"Mrs.  Mannering  appears  to  have  your  interests 
very  much  at  heart,"  Berenice  said,  quietly.  "She 
proved  herself  quite  a  match  for  Sir  Leslie.  I  think 
that  he  would  have  left  here  at  once,  only  we  are 
expecting  Clara  back." 

Mannering  smiled  scornfully. 

"I  do  not  think  that  even  Clara,"  he  said,  "is  quite 
fool  enough  not  to  recognize  in  Borrowdean  the  arrant 
opportunist.  For  my  part  I  am  glad  that  all  pretence 
at  friendship  between  us  is  now  at  an  end.  He  is  one 
of  those  men  whom  I  should  count  more  dangerous 
as  a  friend  than  as  an  enemy." 

Berenice  did  not  reply.  They  were  already  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  hotel.  Blanche  was  in  a  wicker  chair 
in  a  sunny  corner,  talking  to  a  couple  of  young  Eng- 
lishmen. Berenice  turned  towards  the  steps.  They 
parted  without  any  further  words. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PLAYING  THE  GAME 

MANNERING  for  a  moment  hesitated.  One  of 
the  two  young  men  who  were  talking  to  his 
wife  he  recognized  as  a  former  acquaintance  of  hers— 
one  of  a  genus  whom  he  had  little  sympathy  with  and 
less  desire  to  know.  While  he  stood  there  Blanche 
laughed  at  some  remark  made  by  one  of  her  com- 
panions, and  the  laugh,  too,  seemed  somehow  to  remind 
him  of  the  old  days.  He  moved  slowly  forward. 

The  young  men  strolled  off  almost  at  once.  Man- 
nering  took  a  vacant  chair  by  his  wife's  side. 

"I  have  only  just  heard,"  he  said,  "how  much  I  have 
to  thank  you  for.  I  took  it  for  granted  somehow  that 
it  was  the  Duchess  who  had  discovered  our  friend 
Borrowdean's  little  scheme  and  sent  that  telegram. 
Why  didn't  you  sign  it?" 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"It  was  the  Duchess  who  made  him  chuck  it  up," 
she  said.  "I  could  never  have  made  him  do  that. 
I  was  an  idiot  to  let  Parkins  stay  in  England  at  all." 

"I  always  understood,"  he  said,  "that  he  was  dead." 

"I  let  you  think  so,"  she  answered.  "I  thought 
you  might  worry.  But  seriously,  if  he  told  the  truth, 
now,  after  all  these  years,  would  any  one  take  any 
notice  of  it?" 

"Very  likely  not,"  he  said,  "so  far  as  regards 
any  criminal  responsibility.  But  our  political  life  is 


PLAYING  THE  GAME  247 

fenced  about  by  all  the  middle-class  love  of  propriety 
and  hatred  of  all  form  of  scandal.  Parkins's  story, 
authenticated  or  not,  would  have  lost  me  my  seat 
for  Leeds." 

"Then  I  am  very  glad,"  she  said,  "that  I  happened 
to  see  the  telegram.  Do  you  know  where  Parkins 
is  now?" 

"One  of  my  supporters,"  he  said,  "a  queer  little 
man  named  Richard  Fardell,  has  him  in  tow.  He  is 
bringing  him  up  to  London,  I  think." 

She  nodded. 

"What  are  you  doing  this  afternoon?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  at  him  curiously. 

"Mr.  Englehall  has  asked  me  to  go  out  in  his  car," 
she  said.  "I  am  rather  tired  of  motoring,  but  I  think 
I  shall  go." 

Mannering  lit  a  cigarette  which  he  had  just  taken 
from  his  case. 

"I  don't  think  I  should,"  he  remarked. 

She  turned  her  head  slowly,  and  looked  at  him. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked.  "How  can  it  concern  you? 
Your  plans  for  the  afternoon  are,  I  presume,  already 
made!" 

"It  may  not  concern  me  directly,"  he  answered,  "but 
I  have  an  idea  that  Mr.  Englehall  is  not  exactly  the 
sort  of  person  I  care  to  have  you  driving  about  with." 

She  laughed  hardly. 

"I  am  most  flattered  by  your  interest  in  me,"  she 
declared.  "Pray  consider  Mr.  Englehall  disposed  of. 
You  have  some  other  plans,  perhaps?" 

"If  you  care  to,"  he  said,  "we  will  walk  down  to 
the  club  for  lunch  and  come  home  by  the  sea." 

"Alone?" 


248  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Certainly!    Unless  you  choose  to  bring  Hester." 

She  rose  slowly  to  her  feet. 

"No,"  she  said.  "Let  us  go  alone.  It  will  be 
almost  the  first  time  since  we  were  married,  I  think. 
I  am  curious  to  see  how  much  I  can  bore  you!  Will 
you  wait  here  while  I  find  a  hat?" 

She  disappeared  inside  the  hotel.  Mannering  watched 
her  absently.  In  a  vague  sort  of  way  he  was  won- 
dering what  it  was  that  had  made  their  married 
life  so  completely  a  failure.  He  had  imagined  her 
as  asking  very  little  from  him,  content  with  the  shelter 
of  his  name  and  home,  content  at  any  rate  without 
those  things  of  which  he  had  made  no  mention  when 
he  had  spoken  to  her  of  marriage.  And  he  was  be- 
coming gradually  aware  that  it  was  not  so.  She 
expected,  had  hoped  for  more.  The  terms  which  he 
had  zealously  striven  to  cultivate  with  her  were  terms 
of  which  she  clearly  did  not  approve.  The  signs  of 
revolt  were  already  apparent. 

Mannering  became  absorbed  in  thought.  He  re- 
membered clearly  the  feelings  with  which  he  had  gone 
to  her  and  made  his  offer.  He  went  over  it  all  again. 
Surely  he  had  made  himself  understood?  But  then 
there  was  her  confession  to  him,  the  confession  of  her 
love.  He  had  ignored  that,  but  it  was  unforgetable. 
Had  he  not  tacitly  accepted  the  whole  situation?  If 
so,  was  he  doing  his  duty?  The  shelter  of  his  name 
and  home,  what  were  those  to  a  warm-hearted  woman, 
if  she  loved  him?  He  had  married  her,  loving  another 
woman.  She  must  have  known  this,  but  did  she  un- 
derstand that  he  was  not  prepared  to  make  any  effort 
to  accept  the  inevitable?  He  was  still  deep  in  thought 
when  Berenice  came  out. 


PLAYING  THE  GAME  249 

"What  are  you  doing  there  all  by  yourself?"  she 
asked.  "Where  is  your  wife?" 

"She  has  gone  to  get  a  hat,"  he  answered.  "We 
thought  of  going  to  the  club  for  dejeuner." 

She  nodded. 

"A  delightful  idea,"  she  said.  "Do  invite  me,  and 
I  will  take  you  in  the  car.  Mrs.  Mannering  likes 
motoring,  I  know." 

"Of  course!"  he  said.      "We  shall  be  delighted!" 

She  beckoned  to  her  chauffer,  who  was  in  the  court- 
yard. Just  then  Blanche  came  out.  She  had  changed 
her  gown  for  one  of  plain  white  serge,  and  she  wore  a 
hat  of  tuscan  straw  which  Mannering  had  once  admired. 

"You  won't  mind  motoring,  Mrs.  Mannering?" 
Berenice  said,  as  she  approached.  "I  have  invited 
myself  to  luncheon  with  you,  and  I  am  going  to  take 
you  round  to  the  club  in  the  car." 

Blanche  stood  quite  still  for  a  moment.  The  sun 
was  in  her  eyes,  and  she  lowered  her  parasol  for  a 
moment. 

"It  will  be  very  pleasant,"  she  said,  quietly,  "only 
I  think  that  I  will  go  in  and  change  my  hat.  I 
thought  that  we  were  going  to  walk." 

She  retraced  her  steps,  walking  a  little  wearily. 
Berenice  came  and  sat  down  by  Mannering's  side. 

"I  hope  Mrs.  Mannering  does  not  object  to  my 
coming,"  she  said.  "It  occurred  to  me  that  she  was 
not  particularly  cordial." 

"It  is  only  her  manner,"  he  answered.  "It  is  very 
good  of  you  to  take  us." 

"Your  wife  doesn't  like  me,"  Berenice  said.  "I 
wonder  why.  I  thought  that  I  had  been  rather  decent 
to  her." 


250  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Blanche  is  a  little  odd,"  Mannering  answered. 
"I  am  afraid  that  it  is  my  fault.  Here  are  the 
Redfords.  I  wonder  if  they  would  join  us." 

"Three,"  she  murmured,  "is  certainly  an  awkward 
number." 

In  the  end  the  party  became  rather  a  large  one,  for 
Lord  Redford  met  some  old  friends  at  the  club  who 
insisted  upon  their  joining  tables.  In  the  interval, 
whilst  they  waited  for  luncheon,  Mannering  contrived 
to  have  a  word  alone  with  his  wife. 

"I  am  not  responsible,"  he  said,  "for  this  enlarge- 
ment of  our  party.  The  Duchess  invited  herself." 

"It  does  not  matter,"  she  declared,  listlessly.  "What 
are  you  doing  afterwards?" 

"Playing  golf,  I  fancy,"  he  answered.  "You  heard 
what  Redford  said  about  a  foursome." 

"And  you  are  returning — when?" 

"I  must  leave  here  at  six  to-morrow  morning." 

They  were  leaning  over  the  white  palings  of  the 
pavilion,  looking  out  upon  the  last  green.  She  seemed 
to  be  watching  the  approach  of  two  players  who  were 
just  coming  in. 

"It  is  a  long  way  to  come,"  she  remarked,  "for  so 
short  a  time." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  aftermath  of  a  contested  election  is  a  thing 
to  escape  from,"  he  said.  "I  felt  that  I  wanted  to 
get  as  far  away  as  possible,  and  then  again  I  wanted 
to  find  out  who  it  was  who  had  sent  that  telegram." 

They  sat  apart  at  luncheon,  and  Blanche  was  much 
quieter  than  usual.  The  others  were  all  old  friends. 
It  seemed  to  her  more  than  ordinarily  apparent  that 
she  was  present  on  sufferance,  accepted  as  Mannering 's 


PLAYING  THE  GAME  251 

wife,  as  an  evil  to  be  endured,  and,  so  far  as  pos- 
sible, ignored.  Mannering  himself  spoke  to  her  now 
and  then  across  the  table.  Lord  Redford,  always 
good-natured,  made  a  few  efforts  to  draw  her  into 
the  conversation.  But  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
lost  her  confidence.  The  freemasonry  of  old  acquain- 
tance which  existed  between  all  of  them  left  her  out- 
side an  invisible  but  very  real  circle.  Words  came  to 
her  with  difficulty.  She  felt  stupid,  almost  shy.  When 
she  made  an  effort  to  break  through  it  she  was  acutely 
conscious  of  her  failure.  Her  laugh  was  too  hard,  it 
lacked  sincerity  or  restraint.  The  cigarette  which  she 
smoked  out  of  bravado  with  her  coffee,  seemed  some- 
how out  of  place.  When  at  last  luncheon  was  over 
Mannering  left  his  place  and  came  over  to  her. 

"The  Duchess  and  I,"  he  said,  "are  going  to  play 
Lord  Redford  and  Mrs.  Arbuthnot.  Won't  you  walk 
round  with  us?  The  links  are  really  very  pretty." 

"Thanks,  I  hate  watching  golf,"  she  answered, 
rising  and  shaking  out  her  skirt.  "Hester  and  I  will 
walk  home." 

"Do  take  the  car,  Mrs.  Mannering,"  Berenice  said. 
"It  will  simply  be  waiting  here  doing  nothing." 

"Thank  you,"  Blanche  answered.  "I  shall  enjoy 
the  walk." 

The  foursome  was  played  in  very  leisurely  fashion. 
There  was  plenty  of  time  for  conversation. 

"I  don't  quite  understand  your  wife,"  Berenice  said 
to  Mannering.  "Her  dislike  of  me  is  a  little  too  ob- 
vious. What  does  it  mean?  Do  you  know?" 

He  shook  his  head.  He  was  looking  very  pale  and 
tired. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  know  anything  about  it  at 


252  A  LOST  LEADER 

all,"  he  said.  "I  am  beginning  to  distrust  my  own 
judgment." 

"Your  marriage—     "  she  began,  thoughtfully. 

"Don't  let  us  talk  about  it,"  he  interrupted.  "I 
tried  to  pay  a  debt.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  only 
incurred  a  fresh  one." 

They  were  silent  for  some  time.  Then  their  oppo- 
nents lost  a  ball  and  displayed  no  particular  diligence 
in  attempting  to  find  it.  Berenice  sat  down  upon 
a  plank  seat. 

"Your  marriage,"  she  said,  "seemed  always  to  me  a 
piece  of  quixotism.  I  never  altogether  understood  it." 

"It  was  an  affair  of  impulse,"  he  said,  slowly.  "Life 
from  a  personal  point  of  view  had  lost  all  interest  to 
me.  I  did  not  dream  after  my — shall  we  call  it  ap- 
ostacy? — that  I  could  rely  upon  even  a  modicum  of 
your  friendship.  I  looked  upon  myself  as  an  outcast 
commencing  life  afresh.  Then  chance  intervened. 
I  thought  I  saw  my  way  to  making  some  atonement 
to  a  woman  whose  life  I  had  certainly  helped  to  rum. 
That  was  where  the  serious  part  of  the  mistake  came. 
I  thought  what  I  had  to  offer  would  be  sufficient.  I 
am  beginning  now  to  doubt  it." 

"And  what  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  asked,  look- 
ing steadily  away  from  him. 

"Heaven  knows,"  he  answered,  bitterly.  "I  cannot 
give  what  I  do  not  possess." 

Was  it  his  fancy,  or  was  there  a  gleam  of  satisfaction 
about  her  still,  pale  face?  He  went  on. 

"I  don't  want  to  play  the  hypocrite.  On  the  other 
hand  I  don't  want  all  that  I  have  done  to  go  for 
nothing.  Can  you  advise  me?" 

"No,   nor    any    one    else,"    she    answered,    softly. 


"  MANNERING  ROSE  TO  PLAY  HIS  SHOT" 


[Page  253 


PLAYING  THE  GAME  253 

"Yet  I  can  perhaps  correct  a  little  your  point  of  view. 
I  think  that  you  overestimate  your  indebtedness  to 
the  woman  whom  you  have  made  your  wife.  Her 
husband  was  a  weak,  dissipated  creature  and  he  was 
a  doomed  man  long  before  that  unfortunate  day.  It 
is  even  very  questionable  whether  that  scene  in  which 
you  figured  had  anything  whatever  to  do  in  hastening 
his  death.  That  is  a  good  many  years  ago,  and  ever 
since  then  you  seem  to  have  impoverished  yourself 
to  find  her  the  means  to  live  in  luxury.  I  consider  that 
you  paid  your  debt  over  and  over  again,  and  that 
your  final  act  of  self-abnegation  was  entirely  uncalled 
for.  What  more  she  wants  from  you  I  do  not  know. 
Perhaps  I  can  imagine." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  She  turned  her  head 
and  looked  at  him — looked  him  in  the  eyes  unshamed, 
yet  with  her  secret  shining  there  for  him  to  see. 

"There  may  be  others,  Lawrence,"  she  said,  "to 
whom  you  owe  something.  A  woman  cannot  take 
back  what  she  has  given.  There  may  be  sufferers 
in  the  world  whom  you  ought  also  to  consider.  And 
a  woman  loves  to  think  that  what  she  may  not  have 
herself  is  at  least  kept  sacred — to  her  memory." 

"Fore!"  cried  Lord  Redford,  who  had  found  his 
ball.  "Awfully  decent  of  you  people  to  wait  so  long. 
We  were  afraid  you  meant  to  claim  the  hole!" 

Mannering  rose  to  play  his  shot. 

"The  Duchess  and  I,  Lord  Redford,"  he  said,  lightly, 
"scorn  to  take  small  advantages.  We  mean  to  play 
the  game!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A   KEY 

BLANCHE,  in  a  plain  black  net  gown,  sat  on  Lord 
Redford's  right  hand  at  the  hastily  improvised 
dinner  party  that  evening.  Berenice,  more  subtly 
and  more  magnificently  dressed,  was  opposite,  by 
Mannering's  side.  The  conversation  seemed  mostly 
to  circle  about  them. 

"A  very  charming  place,"  Lord  Redford  declared. 
"I  have  enjoyed  my  stay  here  thoroughly.  Let  us 
hope  that  we  may  all  meet  here  again  next  year,"  he 
added,  raising  his  glass.  "Mannering,  you  will  drink 
to  that,  I  hope?" 

"With  all  my  heart,"  Mannering  answered.  "And 
you,  Blanche?" 

She  raised  her  almost  untasted  glass  and  touched 
it  with  her  lips.  She  set  it  down  with  a  faint  smile. 
Berenice  moved  her  head  towards  him. 

"Your  wife  is  not  very  enthusiastic,"  she  remarked. 

"She  neither  plays  golf  nor  bathes,"  Mannering 
said.  "It  is  possible  that  she  finds  it  a  little  dull." 

"Both  are  habits  which  it  is  possible  to  acquire," 
Berenice  answered.  "I  am  telling  your  husband,  Mrs. 
Mannering,"  she  continued,  "that  you  ought  to  learn 
to  play  golf." 

"Lawrence  has  offered  to  teach  me  more  than  once," 
Blanche  answered,  calmly.  "I  am  afraid  that  games 
do  not  attract  me.  Besides,  I  am  too  old  to  learn!" 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A  KEY  255 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Mannering!"  Lord  Redford  protested. 

"I  am  forty-two,"  Blanche  replied,  "and  at  that 
age  a  woman  thinks  twice  before  she  begins  anything 
new  in  the  shape  of  vigorous  exercise.  Besides,  I  find 
plenty  to  amuse  me  here." 

"Might  one  ask  in  what  direction?"  Berenice  mur- 
mured. "I  have  found  in  the  place  many  things  that 
are  delightful,  but  not  amusing." 

"I  find  amusement  often  in  watching  my  neigh- 
bours," Blanche  said.  "I  like  to  ask  myself  what  it 
is  they  want,  and  to  study  their  way  of  attaining  it. 
You  generally  find  that  every  one  is  fairly  transparent 
when  once  you  have  found  the  key — and  everybody 
is  trying  for  something  which  they  don't  care  for  other 
people  to  know  about." 

The  Duchess  looked  at  Blanche  steadily.  There  was 
a  certain  insolence,  the  insolence  of  her  aristocratic 
birth  and  assured  position  in  the  level  stare  of  her 
clear  brown  eyes.  But  Blanche  did  not  flinch. 

"I  had  no  idea,  Mrs.  Mannering,  that  you  had  tastes 
of  that  sort,"  Berenice  said,  languidly.  "Suppose  you 
give  us  a  few  examples." 

"Not  for  the  world,"  Blanche  answered,  fervently. 
"Did  you  say  that  we  were  to  have  coffee  outside, 
Lord  Redford?  How  delightful!  I  wonder  if  Lady 
Redford  is  ready." 

They  all  trooped  out  in  a  minute  or  two.  Berenice 
laid  her  hand  upon  Mannering's  arm. 

"Your  wife,"  she  said,  quietly,  "is  going  a  little 
too  far.  She  is  getting  positively  rude  to  me!" 

Mannering  muttered  some  evasive  reply.  He.  too, 
had  marked  the  note  of  battle  in  Blanche's  tone.  He 
had  noticed,  too,  the  unusual  restraint  of  her  manner. 


256  A  LOST  LEADER 

She  had  drunk  little  or  no  wine  at  dinner  time,  and 
she  had  talked  quietly  and  sensibly.  Directly  they 
reached  the  courtyard  she  seated  herself  on  a  settee 
for  two,  and  made  room  for  him  by  her  side. 

"Come  and  tell  me  about  the  golf  match,"  she  said. 
"Who  won?" 

Mannering  had  no  alternative  but  to  obey.  Lady 
Redford,  however,  drew  her  chair  up  close  to  theirs, 
and  the  conversation  was  always  general.  Berenice 
in  a  few  minutes  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Listen  to  the  sea,"  she  exclaimed.  "Don't  some 
of  you  want  to  come  down  to  the  rocks  and  watch  it?" 

Blanche  rose  up  at  once. 

"Do  come,  Lawrence,  if  you  are  not  too  tired!" 
she  said. 

The  whole  party  trooped  out  on  to  the  promenade. 
Blanche  passed  her  arm  through  her  husband's,  and 
calmly  appropriated  him. 

"You  can  walk  with  whom  you  please  presently, 
Lawrence,"  she  said,  "but  I  want  you  for  a  few  min- 
utes. I  suppose  you  will  admit  that  I  have  some 
claim?" 

"Certainly,"  Mannering  answered.  "I  have  never 
denied  it." 

"I  am  your  wife,"  Blanche  said,  "though  heaven 
knows  why  you  ever  married  me.  The  Duchess  is, 
I  suppose,  the  woman  whom  you  would  have  married 
if  you  hadn't  got  into  a  mess  with  your  politics.  She 
is  a  very  attractive  woman,  and  you  married  me,  of 
course,  out  of  pity,  or  some  such  maudlin  reason.  But 
all  the  same  I  am  here,  and — I  don't  care  what  you 
do  when  I  can't  see  you,  but  I  won't  have  her  make 
love  to  you  before  my  face." 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A  KEY  257 

"The  Duchess  is  not  that  sort  of  woman,  Blanche," 
Mannering  said,  gravely. 

"Isn't  she?"  Blanche  remarked,  unconvinced.  "Well, 
I've  watched  her,  and  in  my  opinion  she  isn't  very 
different  from  any  other  sort  of  woman.  Do  you  wish 
you  were  free  very  much?  I  know  she  does!" 

"Is  there  any  object  to  be  gained  by  this  conversa- 
tion?" Mannering  asked.  "Frankly,  I  don't  like  it. 
I  made  you  no  absurd  promises  when  I  married  you. 
I  think  that  you  understood  the  position  very  well. 
So  far  as  I  know  I  have  given  you  no  cause  to 
complain." 

They  had  reached  the  end  of  the  promenade.  Blanche 
leaned  over  the  rail.  Her  eyes  seemed  fixed  upon  a 
light  flashing  and  disappearing  across  the  sea.  Man- 
nering stood  uncomfortably  by  her  side. 

"No  cause  to  complain!"  she  repeated,  as  though  to 
herself.  "No,  I  suppose  not.  And  yet,  how  much 
the  better  off  do  you  think  I  am,  Lawrence?  I  had 
friends  before  of  some  sort  or  another.  Some  of  them 
pretended  to  like  me,  even  if  they  didn't.  I  did  as  I 
chose.  I  lived  as  I  liked.  I  was  my  own  mistress. 
And  now — well,  there  is  no  one!  I  enjoy  the  respec- 
tability of  your  name,  the  privilege  of  knowing  your 
friends,  the  ability  to  pay  my  bills,  but  I  should  go 
stark  mad  if  it  wasn't  for  Hester.  I  gave  myself  away 
to  you,  I  know.  You  married  me  for  pity,  I  know. 
But  what  in  God's  name  do  I  get  out  of  it?" 

A  note  of  real  passion  quivered  in  her  tone.  Man- 
nering looked  down  at  her  helplessly,  taken  wholly 
aback,  without  the  power  for  a  moment  to  formulate 
his  thoughts.  There  was  a  touch  of  colour  in  her  pale 
cheeks,  her  eyes  were  lit  with  an  unusual  fire.  The 


258  A  LOST  LEADER 

faint  moonlight  was  kind  to  her.  Her  features,  thinner 
than  they  had  been,  seemed  to  have  gained  a  certain 
refinement.  She  reminded  him  more  than  ever  before 
of  the  Blanche  of  many  years  ago.  He  answered  her 
kindly,  almost  tenderly. 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said,  "if  I  have  caused  you 
any  suffering.  What  I  did  I  did  for  the  best.  I  don't 
think  that  I  quite  understood,  and  I  thought  that  you 
knew — what  had  come  into  my  life." 

"I  knew  that  you  cared  for  her,  of  course,"  she 
answered,  with  a  little  sob,  "but  I  did  not  know  that 
you  meant  to  nurse  it — that  feeling.  I  thought  that 
when  we  were  married  you  would  try  to  care  for  me 
— a  little.  I — Here  are  the  others!" 

Lord  Redford,  who  had  failed  to  amuse  Berenice, 
and  who  had  a  secret  preference  for  the  woman  who 
generally  amused  him,  broke  up  their  tete-h-tete.  He 
led  Blanche  away,  and  Mannering  followed  with 
Berenice. 

''What  does  this  change  in  your  wife  mean?"  she 
asked,  abruptly. 

"Change?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes!  She  watches  us!  If  it  were  not  too  absurd, 
one  would  believe  her  jealous.  Of  course,  it  is  not 
my  business  to  ask  you  on  what  terms  you  are  with 
your  wife,  but " 

"You  know  what  terms,"  he  interrupted. 

Her  manner  softened.  She  looked  at  him  for  a 
moment  and  then  her  eyes  dropped. 

"I  am  rather  a  hateful  woman!"  she  said,  slowly. 
"I  wish  I  had  not  said  that.  I  don't  think  we  have 
managed  things  very  cleverly,  Lawrence.  Still,  I  sup- 
pose life  is  made  up  of  these  sorts  of  idiotic  blunders." 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  A  KEY  259 

"Mine,"  he  said,  "has  been  always  distinguished  by 
them." 

"And  mine,"  she  said,  "only  since  I  came  to  Blakely, 
and  learnt  to  talk  nonsense  in  your  rose-garden!  But 
come,"  she  added,  more  briskly,  "we  are  breaking  our 
compact.  We  agreed  to  be  friends,  you  know,  and 
abjure  sentiment." 

He  nodded. 

"It  seemed  quite  easy  then,"  he  remarked. 

"And  it  is  easy  now!  It  must  be,"  she  added.  "I 
have  scarcely  congratulated  you  upon  your  election. 
What  it  all  means,  and  with  which  party  you  are 
going  to  vote,  I  scarcely  know  even  now.  But  I  can 
at  least  congratulate  you  personally." 

"You  are  generous,"  he  said,  "for  I  suppose  I  am 
a  deserter.  As  to  where  I  shall  sit,  it  is  very  hard  to 
tell.  I  fancy  myself  that  we  are  on  the  eve  of  a  com- 
plete readjustment  of  parties.  Wherever  I  may  find 
myself,  however,  it  will  scarcely  be  with  your  friends." 

She  nodded. 

"I  realize  that,  and  I  am  sorry,"  she  said.  "All 
that  we  need  is  a  leader,  and  you  might  have  been  he. 
As  it  is,  I  suppose  we  shall  muddle  along  somehow 
until  some  one  comes  out  of  the  ruck  strong  enough 
to  pull  us  together.  .  .  .  Come  and  see  me  in  Lon- 
don, Lawrence.  Who  knows  but  that  you  may  be 
able  to  convert  me!" 

"You  are  too  staunch,"  he  answered,  "and  you  have 
not  seen  what  I  have  seen." 
She  sighed. 

"Didn't  you  once  tell  me  at  Blakely  that  politics 
for  a  woman  was  a  mischosen  profession — that  we 
were  at  once  too  obstinate  and  too  sentimental?  Per- 


260  A  LOST  LEADER 

haps  you  were  right.  We  don't  come  into  touch  with 
the  same  forces  that  you  meet  with,  and  we  come 
into  touch  with  others  which  make  the  world  seem 
curiously  upside-down.  Good-night,  Lawrence!  I  am 
going  to  my  room  quietly.  Lady  Redford  wants  to 
play  bridge,  and  I  don't  feel  like  it!  5cm  voyage!" 

Mannering  stood  alone  in  the  little  courtyard,  lit 
now  with  hanging  lights,  and  crowded  with  stray 
visitors  who  had  strolled  in  from  the  streets.  The 
rest  of  the  party  had  gone  into  the  salon  beyond, 
and  Mannering  felt  curiously  disinclined  to  join  them. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  touch  upon  his  arm.  He  turned 
round.  Blanche  was  standing  there  looking  up  at 
him.  Something  in  her  face  puzzled  him.  Her  eyes 
fell  before  his.  She  was  pale,  yet  as  he  looked  at 
her  a  flood  of  colour  rushed  into  her  cheeks.  His 
momentary  impression  of  her  eyes  was  that  they  were 
very  soft  and  very  bright.  She  had  thrown  off  her 
wrap,  and  with  her  left  hand  was  holding  up  her  white 
skirt.  Her  right  hand  was  clenched  as  though  holding 
something,  and  extended  timidly  towards  him. 

"I  wanted  to  say  good-night  to  you — and — there 
was  something  else— this!" 

Something  passed  from  her  hand  to  his,  something 
cold  and  hard.  He  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  but 
she  was  already  on  her  way  up  the  grey  stone  steps 
which  led  from  the  courtyard  into  the  hotel,  and  she 
did  not  turn  back.  He  opened  his  hand  and  stared 
at  what  he  found  there.  It  was  a  key — number 
forty-four,  Premier  etage. 


"SHK   WAS  ALREADY   ON    HER    WAY    UP   THE   GREY   STONE   STEPS" 

\Pase  260 


CHAPTER  X 

BLANCHE    FINDS    A    WAY    OUT 

MANNERING  was  conscious  of  an  overpowering 
desire  to  be  alone.  He  made  his  way  out  of 
the  courtyard  and  back  to  the  promenade.  Some 
of  the  lights  were  already  extinguished,  and  a  slight 
drizzling  rain  was  falling.  He  walked  at  once  to  the 
further  wall,  and  stood  leaning  over,  looking  into  the 
chaos  of  darkness.  The  key,  round  which  his  fingers 
were  still  tightly  clenched,  seemed  almost  to  burn  his 
flesh. 

What  to  do?  How  much  more  of  himself  was  he 
bound  to  surrender?  Through  a  confusion  of  thoughts 
some  things  came  to  him  then  very  clearly.  Amongst 
others  the  grim,  pitiless  selfishness  of  his  life.  How 
much  must  she  have  suffered  before  she  had  dared 
to  do  this  thing!  He  had  taken  up  a  burden  and 
adjusted  the  weight  to  suit  himself.  He  had  had  no 
thought  for  her,  no  care  save  that  the  seemliness  of 
his  own  absorbed  life  might  not  be  disturbed.  And 
behind  it  all  the  other  reason.  What  a  pigmy  of  a 
man  he  was,  after  all. 

A  clock  from  the  town  struck  eleven.  He  must 
decide!  A  vision  of  her  rose  up  before  him.  He 
understood  now  her  weakness  and  her  strength.  She 
was  an  ordinary  woman,  seeking  the  affection  her  sex 
demanded  from  its  legitimate  source.  He  understood 
the  coming  and  going  of  the  colour  in  her  cheeks, 


262  A  LOST  LEADER 

her  strained  attempts  to  please,  her  barely  controlled 
jealousy.  In  that  mad  moment  when  he  had  planned 
for  her  salvation  he  had  imagined  that  she  would  have 
understood.  What  folly!  Why  should  she?  The  com- 
plex workings  of  his  innermost  nature  were  scarcely 
likely  to  have  been  patent  to  her.  What  right  had  he 
to  build  upon  that?  What  right,  as  an  honest  man, 
to  contract  a  debt  he  never  meant  to  pay?  .  If  he  had 
not  at  the  moment  realized  his  responsibilities  that  was 
his  own  fault.  From  her  point  of  view  they  were  ob- 
vious enough,  and  it  was  from  her  point  of  view  as  well 
as  his  own  that  they  must  be  considered. 

He  turned  back  to  the  hotel,  walking  a  little  un- 
steadily. All  the  tune  he  was  not  sure  that  this  was 
not  a  dream.  And  then  on  the  wet  pavement  he  came 
face  to  face  with  two  cloaked  figures,  one  of  whom 
stopped  short  and  called  him  by  name.  It  was  Berenice ! 

"You!"  he  exclaimed,  more  than  ever  sure  that  he 
was  not  properly  awake. 

"Is  it  so  wonderful?"  she  answered.  "To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  was  not  sleepy,  and  I  felt  like  a  little  walk. 
You  can  go  back  now,  Bryan,"  she  said,  turning  to 
her  maid.  "Mr.  Mannering  will  see  me  home." 

As  though  by  mutual  consent  they  crossed  to  the 
sea-wall. 

"What  made  you  come  out  again?"  she  asked. 
"No,  don't  answer  me!  I  think  that  I  know." 

"Impossible,"  he  murmured. 

"I  was  going  up  to  my  room,"  she  said,  "and  as  I 
passed  the  landing  window  which  looks  into  the  court- 
yard I  saw  you  talking  to  your  wife.  I — I  am  afraid 
that  I  watched.  I  saw  her  leave  you." 

"Yes!" 


BLANCHE  FINDS  A  WAY  OUT          263 

"What  was  it  that  she  gave  you?  What  is  it  that 
you  have  in  your  hand?" 

He  opened  his  fingers.  She  turned  her  head  away. 
It  seemed  to  him  an  eternity  that  she  stood  there. 
When  she  spoke  her  voice  was  scarcely  more  than  a 
whisper. 

"Lawrence,"  she  said,  "we  have  been  very  selfish, 
you  and  I!  There  have  been  no  words  between  us, 
but  I  think  the  compact  has  been  there  all  the  same. 
It  seemed  to  me  somehow  that  it  was  a  compensation, 
that  it  was  part  of  the  natural  order  of  things,  that  as 
our  own  folly  had  kept  us  apart,  you  should  still  belong 
to  me — hi  my  thoughts.  And  I  have  no  right  to  this, 
or  any  share  of  you,  Lawrence." 

He  drew  a  little  nearer  to  her.  She  moved  instantly 
away. 

"I  am  glad,"  she  said,  "that  our  party  breaks  up 
to-morrow.  When  we  meet  again,  Lawrence,  it  must 
be  differently.  I  am  parting  with  a  great  deal  that 
has  been  precious  to  me,  but  it  must  be.  It  is  quite 
clear." 

"I  made  no  promise!"  he  cried,  hoarsely.  "I  did 
not  mean — 

She  stopped  him  with  a  swift  glance. 

"Never  mind  that.  You  and  I  are  not  of  the  race 
of  people  who  shrink  from  their  duty,  or  fear  to  do 
what  is  right.  Your  wife's  face  taught  me  mine.  Your 
conscience  will  tell  you  yours." 

"You  mean?"  he  exclaimed. 

"You  know  what  I  mean.  We  shall  meet  again,  of 
course,  but  this  is  none  the  less  our  farewell.  No, 
don't  touch  me!  Not  even  my  hand,  Lawrence. 
Don't  make  it  any  harder.  Let  us  go  in." 


264  A  LOST  LEADER 

But  he  did  not  move.  The  place  where  they  stood 
was  deserted.  From  below  the  white  spray  came 
leaping  up  almost  to  their  faces  as  the  waves  beat 
against  the  wall.  Behind  them  the  town  was  black 
and  deserted,  save  where  a  few  lights  gleamed  out 
from  the  hotel.  She  shivered  a  little,  and  drew  her 
cloak  around  her. 

"Come,"  she  said,  "I  am  getting  cold  and  cramped." 

He  walked  by  her  side  to  the  hotel.  At  the  foot 
of  the  steps  she  left  him. 

"We  shall  meet  again  hi  London,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"Don't  be  too  hard  upon  your  old  friends  when  you 
•take  your  seat.  Remember  that  you  were  once  one 
of  us." 

She  looked  round  and  waved  her  hand  as  she  dis- 
appeared. He  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  face  as  she 
passed  underneath  the  hanging  lamp — the  face  of  a 
tired  woman  suddenly  grown  old.  With  a  little  groan 
he  made  his  way  into  the  hotel,  and  slowly  ascended 
the  stairs. 

Early  the  next  morning  Mannering  left  Bonestre, 
and  hi  twenty-four  hours  he  was  back  again,  summoned 
by  a  telegram  which  had  met  him  hi  London.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  everybody  at  the  station  and  about 
the  hotel  regarded  him  with  shocked  and  respectful 
sympathy.  Hester,  looking  like  a  ghost,  took  him  at 
once  to  her  room.  He  was  haggard  and  weary  with 
rapid  travelling,  and  he  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Tell  me— the  worst!"  he  said. 

"She  started  with  Mr.  Englehall  about  mid-day," 
Hester  said.  "They  had  luggage,  but  I  explained  that 
he  was  going  to  Paris,  she  was  coming  back  by  train. 
At  two  o'clock  we  were  rung  up  on  the  telephone. 


BLANCHE  FINDS  A  WAY  OUT  265 

Their  brake  had  snapped  going  down  the  hill  by  St. 
Entuiel,  and  the  chauffeur — he  is  mad  now — but  they 
think  he  lost  his  nerve.  They  were  dashed  into  a  tree, 
and — they  were  both  dead — when  they  were  got  out 
from  the  wreck." 

"God  in  Heaven!"  Mannering  murmured,  white  to 
the  lips. 

There  was  a  silence  between  them.  Mannering  had 
covered  his  head  with  his  hands.  Hester  tried  once 
or  twice  to  speak,  but  the  tears  were  streaming 
from  her  eyes.  She  had  the  air  of  having  more  to 
say.  The  white  horror  of  tragedy  was  still  in  her 
face. 

"There  is  a  letter,"  she  said  at  last.  "She  left  a 
letter  for  you." 

Mannering  rose  slowly  to  his  feet  and  moved  to  the 
lamp.  Directly  he  had  broken  the  seal  he  understood. 
He  read  the  first  line  and  looked  up.  His  eyes  met 
Hester's. 

"Who  knows — this?"  he  asked,  hoarsely. 

"No  one!  They  had  not  been  gone  two  hours.  I 
explained  everything." 

Then  Mannering  read  on. 

"My  DEAR  HUSBAND: 

"I  call  you  that  for  the  last  time,  for  I  am  going  off 
with  Englehall  to  Paris.  Don't  be  too  shocked,  and 
don't  despise  me  too  much.  I  am  just  a  very  ordinary 
woman,  and  I  'm  afraid  I've  bad  blood  in  my  veins.  Any- 
how, I  can't  go  on  living  under  a  glass  case  any  longer. 
The  old  life  was  rotten  enough,  but  this  is  insupportable. 
I'm  going  to  have  a  fling,  and  after  that  I  don't  care 
what  becomes  of  me. 

"Now,  Lawrence,  I  don't  want  you  to  blame  yourself. 
I  did  think  perhaps  that  when  we  were  married  I  might 


266  A  LOST  LEADER 

have  got  you  to  care  for  me  a  little,  but  I  suppose  that 
was  just  my  vanity.  It  wasn't  very  possible  with  a 
woman  like — well,  never  mind  who — about.  You  did 
your  best.  You  were  very  nice  and  very  kind  to  me  last 
night,  but  it  wasn't  the  real  thing,  was  it?  I  knew  you 
hated  being  where  you  were.  I  could  almost  hear  your 
sigh  of  relief  when  I  let  you  go.  The  fact  of  it  is,  our 
marriage  was  a  mistake.  I  ought  to  have  been  satisfied 
with  your  name,  I  suppose,  and  the  position  it  gave  me, 
but  I'm  not  that  sort  of  woman.  I've  been  in  Bohemia 
too  long.  I  like  cheery  friends,  even  if  their  names  are 
not  in  Debrett,  and  I  must  have  some  one  to  care  for  me, 
or  to  pretend  to  care  for  me.  You  know  I've  cared  for 
you — only  you  in  a  certain  way — but  I'm  not  heroic 
enough  to  be  content  with  a  shadowy  love.  I'm  not  an 
idealist.  Imagination  doesn't  content  me  in  the  least. 
I'd  rather  have  an  inferior  substance  than  ideal  perfec- 
tion. You  see,  I'm  a  very  commonplace  person  at  heart, 
Lawrence — almost  vulgar.  But  these  are  my  last  words 
to  you,  so  I've  gone  in  for  plain  speaking.  Now  you're 
rid  of  me. 

"That's  all!  From  your  point  of  view  I  suppose,  and 
your  friends,  I've  gone  to  the  devil.  Don't  be  too  sure 
of  it.  I'm  going  to  have  a  good  time,  and  when  the 
end  comes  I'm  willing  to  pay.  If  you  are  idiotic  enough 
to  come  after  me,  I  shall  be  angry  with  you  for  the  first 
time  in  my  life,  and  it  wouldn't  be  the  least  bit  of  use. 
EnglehalPs  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  he's  a  good  sort. 
He's  wanted  me  to  do  this  often  enough  for  years,  but  I 
never  felt  quite  like  it.  I  believe  he'd  marry  me  after, 
but  he's  got  a  wife  shut  up  somewhere. 

"  I  expect  you  think  this  a  callous  sort  of  letter.  Well, 
I  can't  help  it.  If  it  disgusts  you  with  me,  so  much  the 
better.  I'm  sorry  for  the  scandal,  but  you  will  get  over 
that.  Good-bye,  Lawrence.  Forgive  me  all  the  bother 
I've  been  to  you. 

"BLANCHE." 

Mannering  looked  up  from  the  letter,  and  again  his 
eyes  met  Hester's.  The  secret  was  theirs  alone.  Very 


BLANCHE  FINDS  A  WAY  OUT  267 

carefully  he  tore  the  pages  into  small  pieces.  Then 
he  opened  the  stove  and  watched  them  consumed. 

"No  one  will  ever  know,"  Hester  said.  "She  said 
—when  she  left — that  it  was  a  morning's  ride — but 
motors  were  so  uncertain  that  she  took  a  bag." 

Mannering's  eyes  were  filled  once  more  with  tears. 
The  intolerable  pity  of  the  whole  thing,  its  awful  sud- 
denness, swept  every  other  thought  out  of  his  mind. 
He  remembered  how  anxiously  she  had  tried  to  please 
him  on  that  last  night.  He  loathed  himself  for  the 
cold  brutality  of  his  chilly  affection.  Hester  came 
and  knelt  by  his  side,  but  she  said  nothing.  So  the 
hours  passed. 


BOOK  IV 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  PERSISTENCY  OF  BORROWDEAN 

"   A  ND  what    does    Maunering   think   of  it  all,   I 

<£*•  wonder!"  Lord  Redford  remarked,  lighting  a 
fresh  cigarette.  "This  may  be  his  opportunity,  who 
can  tell!" 

"Will  he  have  the  nerve  to  grasp  it?"  Borrowdean 
asked.  "Mannering  has  never  been  proved  in  a  crisis." 

"He  may  have  the  nerve.  I  should  be  more  in- 
clined to  question  the  desire,"  Lord  Redford  said. 
"For  a  man  in  his  position  he  has  always  seemed 
to  me  singularly  unambitious.  I  don't  think  that 
the  prospect  of  being  Prime  Minister  would  dazzle  him 
in  the  least.  It  is  part  of  the  genius  of  the  politician 
too,  to  know  exactly  when  and  how  to  seize  an  op- 
portunity. I  can  imagine  him  watching  it  come, 
examining  it  through  his  eyeglass,  and  standing  on 
one  side  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders." 

"You  do  not  believe,  then,"  Berenice  said,  "that  he 
is  sufficiently  in  earnest  to  grasp  it?" 

"Exactly,"  Lord  Redford  said.  "I  have  that  feel- 
ing about  Mannering,  I  must  admit,  especially  during 
the  last  two  years.  He  seems  to  have  drawn  away  from 
all  of  us,  to  live  altogether  too  absorbed  and  self- 
contained  a  life  for  a  man  who  has  great  ambitions  to 
realize,  or  who  is  in  downright  earnest  about  his  work," 


PERSISTENCY  OF  BORROWDEAN         269 

"What  you  all  forget  when  you  discuss  Lawrence 
Mannering  is  this,"  Berenice  said.  "He  holds  his 
position  almost  as  a  sacred  charge.  He  is  absolutely 
conscientious.  He  wants  certain  things  for  the  sake  of 
the  people,  and  he  will  work  steadily  on  until  he  gets 
them.  I  believe  it  is  the  truth  that  he  has  no  personal 
ambition,  but  if  the  cause  he  has  at  heart  is  to  be 
furthered  at  all  it  must  be  by  his  taking  office.  There- 
fore I  think  that  when  the  time  conies  he  will  take  it." 

"That  sounds  reasonable  enough,"  Lord  Redford  ad- 
mitted. "By  the  bye,  did  you  notice  that  he  is  included 
in  the  house  party  at  Sandringham  again  this  week?" 

Anstruther,  the  youngest  Cabinet  Minister,  and  Lord 
Redford's  nephew,  joined  in  the  conversation. 

"I  can  tell  you  something  for  a  fact,"  he  said.  "My 
cousin  is  Lady-in-Waiting,  and  she's  been  up  in  town 
for  a  few  days,  and  she  asked  me  about  Mannering. 
A  Certain  Personage  thinks  very  highly  of  him  indeed. 
Told  some  one  that  Mr.  Mannering  was  the  most  states- 
man-like politician  in  the  service  of  his  country.  I 
believe  he'd  sooner  see  Mannering  Prime  Minister  than 
any  one." 

"But  he  has  no  following,"   Borrowdean  objected. 

"I  think,"  Berenice  said,  slowly,  "that  he  keeps  as 
far  aloof  as  possible  for  one  reason,  and  one  reason 
only.  He  avoids  friendship,  but  he  makes  no  enemies. 
He  cultivates  a  neutral  position  whenever  he  can. 
What  he  is  looking  forward  to,  I  am  sure,  is  to  found 
a  coalition  Government." 

"It  is  very  possible,"  Lord  Redford  remarked.  "I 
wonder  if  he  will  ask  me  to  join." 

"Always  selfish,"  Berenice  laughed.  "You  men  are 
all  alike!" 


270  A  LOST  LEADER 

"On  the  contrary,"  Lord  Redford  answered,  "my 
interest  was  purely  patriotic.  I  cannot  imagine  the 
affairs  of  the  country  flourishing  deprived  of  my  valu- 
able services.  Let  us  go  and  wander  through  the 
crowd.  Members  .of  a  Government  hi  extremes  like 
ours  ought  not  to  whisper  together  hi  corners.  It 
gives  rise  to  comment." 

Anstruther  came  hurrying  up.  He  drew  Redford 
on  one  side. 

"Mannering  is  here,"  he  said,  quietly.  "Just  ar- 
rived from  Sandringham.  He  is  looking  for  you." 

Almost  as  he  spoke  Mannering  appeared.  He  did 
not  at  first  see  Berenice,  and  from  the  corner  where 
she  stood  she  watched  him  closely. 

It  was  two  years  since  those  few  weeks  at  Bonestre, 
and  during  all  that  tune  they  had  scarcely  met.  Bere- 
nice knew  that  he  had  avoided  her.  For  twelve  months 
he  had  declined  all  social  engagements,  and  since  then 
he  had  pleaded  the  stress  of  political  affairs  as  an  excuse 
for  leading  the  life  almost  of  a  recluse.  Unseen  her- 
self, she  studied  him  closely.  He  was  much  thinner, 
and  every  trace  of  his  once  healthy  colouring  had  dis- 
appeared. His  eyes  seemed  deeper  set.  There  were 
streaks  of  grey  in  his  hair.  But  for  all  that  to  her  he 
was  unaltered.  He  was  still  the  one  man  hi  the  world. 
She  saw  him  shake  hands  with  Lord  Redford  and  draw 
him  a  little  on  one  side. 

"Can  you  spare  me  five  minutes?"  he  asked.  "I 
have  a  matter  to  discuss  with  you." 

"Certainly!"  Lord  Redford  answered.  "I  am  leav- 
ing directly,  and  I  might  drive  you  home  if  you  liked. 
We  heard  that  you  were  at  Sandringham." 

"I  came  up  this  afternoon,"  Mannering  answered. 


PERSISTENCY  OF  BORROWDEAN         271 

"I  heard  that  you  were  likely  to  be  here,  and  as  Lady 
Herrington  had  been  kind  enough  to  send  me  a  card 
I  came  on." 

Lord  Redford  nodded. 

"Borrowdean  and  Anstruther  are  here  too,"  he 
remarked.  "We  all  felt  in  need  of  diversion.  As  you 
know  very  well,  we're  hi  a  tight  corner." 

Berenice  came  out  from  her  place.  At  the  sound 
of  the  rustling  of  her  skirts  both  men  turned  their 
heads.  She  wore  a  gown  of  black  velvet  and  a  won- 
derful rope  of  pearls  hung  from  her  neck.  She  raised 
her  hand  and  smiled  at  Mannering. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  she  said,  softly.  "It 
is  quite  an  age  since  we  met,  isn't  it?" 

He  held  her  hand  for  a  moment.  The  touch  of  his 
fingers  chilled  her.  He  greeted  her  with  quiet  courtesy, 
but  there  was  no  answering  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"I  have  heard  often  of  your  movements  from  Clara," 
he  said.  "You  have  been  very  kind  to  her." 

"It  has  never  occurred  to  me  in  that  light,"  she 
said.  "Clara  needs  a  chaperon,  and  I  need  a  com- 
panion. We  were  talking  yesterday  of  going  to  Cairo 
for  the  whiter.  My  only  fear  is  that  I  am  robbing  you 
of  your  niece." 

"Please  do  not  let  that  trouble  you,"  he  said.  "Clara 
would  be  a  most  uncomfortable  member  of  my  house- 
hold." 

"But  are  you  never  at  all  lonely?"  she  asked. 

"I  never  have  time  to  think  of  such  a  thing,"  he 
answered.  "Besides,  I  have  Hester.  She  makes  a 
wonderful  secretary,  and  she  seems  to  enjoy  the  work." 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  with  you  some  time," 
she  said.  "Won't  you  come  and  see  me?" 


272  A  LOST  LEADER 

He  hesitated. 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  ask  me,"  he  said.  "Don't 
think  me  churlish,  but  I  go  nowhere.  I  am  trying  to 
make  up,  you  see,  for  my  years  of  idleness." 

She  looked  at  him  steadfastly,  and  her  heart  sank. 
The  change  hi  his  outward  appearance  seemed  typical 
of  some  deeper  and  more  final  alteration  in  his  whole 
nature.  She  felt  herself  powerless  against  the  absolute 
impenetrability  of  his  tone  and  manner.  She  felt  that 
he  had  fought  a  battle  within  himself  and  conquered; 
that  for  some  reason  or  other  he  had  decided  to  walk 
no  longer  in  the  pleasanter  paths  of  life.  She  had 
come  to  him  unexpectedly,  but  he  had  shown  no  sign 
of  emotion.  Her  influence  over  him  seemed  to  be 
wholly  a  thing  of  the  past.  She  made  one  more  effort. 

"I  think,"  she  said,  "that  as  one  grows  older  one 
parts  the  less  readily  with  the  few  friends  who  count. 
I  hope  that  you  will  change  your  mind." 

He  bowed  gravely,  but  he  made  no  answer.  Berenice 
took  Borrowdean's  arm  and  passed  on.  There  was  a 
little  spot  of  colour  in  her  cheeks.  Borrowdean  felt 
nerved  to  his  enterprise. 

"Let  us  go  somewhere  and  sit  down  for  a  few 
minutes,"  he  suggested.  "The  rooms  are  so  hot  this 
evening." 

She  assented  without  words,  and  he  found  a  solitary 
couch  in  one  of  the  further  apartments. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"whether  I  might  say  something  to  you,  whether 
you  would  listen  to  me  for  a  few  minutes." 

Berenice  was  absorbed  in  her  own  thoughts.  She 
allowed  him  to  proceed. 

"For  a  good  many  years,"  he  said,  lowering  his 


PERSISTENCY  OF  BORROWDEAN        273 

voice  a  little,  "I  have  worked  hard  and  done  all  I  could 
to  be  successful.  I  wanted  to  have  some  sort  of  a 
position  to  offer.  I  am  a  Cabinet  Minister  now,  and 
although  I  don't  suppose  we  can  last  much  longer  this 
time,  I  shall  have  a  place  whenever  we  are  in  again." 

The  sense  of  what  he  was  saying  began  to  dawn 
upon  her.  She  stopped  him  at  once. 

"Please  do  not  say  any  more,  Sir  Leslie,"  she  begged. 
"I  should  have  given  you  credit  for  sufficient  percep- 
tion to  have  known  beforehand  the  absolute  impossi- 
bility of — of  anything  of  the  sort." 

"You  are  still  a  young  woman,"  he  said,  quietly. 
"The  world  expects  you  to  marry  again." 

"I  have  no  interest  in  what  the  world  expects  of  me," 
she  answered,  "but  I  may  tell  you  at  once  that  my 
refusal  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  question 
of  marriage  in  the  abstract.  You  are  a  man  of  per- 
ception, Sir  Leslie!  It  will  be,  I  trust,  sufficient  if  I 
say  that  I  have  no  feelings  whatever  towards  you 
which  would  induce  me  to  consider  the  subject  even 
for  a  moment." 

She  was  unchanged,  then!  This  time  he  recognized 
the  note  of  finality  in  her  tone.  All  the  time  and  thought 
he  had  given  to  this  matter  were  wasted.  He  had  failed, 
and  he  knew  why.  He  seldom  permitted  himself  the 
luxury  of  anger,  but  he  felt  all  the  poison  of  bitter 
hatred  stirring  within  him  at  that  moment,  and  craving 
for  some  sort  of  expression.  There  was  nothing  he 
could  do,  nothing  he  could  say  But  if  Mannering  had 
been  within  reach  then  he  would  have  struck  him.  He 
rose  and  walked  slowly  away. 


CHAPTER  II 

HESTER   THINKS   IT   "A   GREAT  PITY" 

"V7"OU  will  understand,"   Mannering  said,  as   the 

•*•  brougham  drove  off,  "  that  you  and  I  are  speak- 
ing together  merely  as  friends.  I  have  nothing  official 
to  say  to  you.  It  would  be  presumption  on  my  part 
to  assume  that  the  time  is  ripe  for  anything  definite 
while  you  are  still  at  the  head  of  an  unbeaten  Govern- 
ment. But  one  learns  to  read  the  signs  of  the  times. 
I  think  that  you  and  I  both  know  that  you  cannot  last 
the  session." 

"It  is  a  positive  luxury  at  times,"  Redford  answered, 
"to  be  able  to  indulge  in  absolute  candour.  We  can- 
not last  the  session.  You  pulled  us  through  our  last 
tight  corner,  but  we  shall  part,  I  suppose,  on  the  New 
Tenement  Bill,  and  then  we  shall  come  a  cropper." 

Mannering  nodded. 

"The  Opposition,"  he  said,  "are  not  strong  enough 
to  form  a  Government  alone.  And  I  do  not  think  that 
a  one-man  Cabinet  would  be  popular.  It  has  been 
suggested  to  me  that  at  no  time  in  political  history 
have  the  conditions  been  more  favourable  for  a  really 
strong  coalition  Government,  containing  men  of  moder- 
ate views  on  both  sides.  I  am  anxious  to  know  whether 
you  would  be  willing  to  join  such  a  combination." 

"Under  whom?"  Lord  Redford  asked. 

"Under  myself,"  Mannering  answered,  gravely. 
"Don't  think  me  over-presumptuous.  The  matter 


HESTER  THINKS  IT  "A  PITY"         275 

has  been  very  carefully  thought  out.  You  could  not 
serve  under  Rushleigh,  nor  could  he  serve  under  you. 
But  you  could  both  be  invaluable  members  of  a  Cabinet 
of  which  I  was  the  nominal  head.  I  do  not  wish  to 
entrap  you  into  consent,  however,  without  your  fully 
understanding  this:  a  modified,  and  to  a  certain  extent 
an  experimental,  scheme  of  tariff  reform  would  be  part 
of  our  programme." 

"You  wish  for  a  reply,"  Lord  Redford  said,  "only 
in  general  terms?" 

"Only  in  general  terms,  of  course,"  Mannering 
assented. 

"Then  you  may  take  it,"  Lord  Redford  said,  "that 
I  should  be  proud  to  become  a  member  of  such  a  Gov- 
ernment. Anything  would  be  better  than  a  fourth- 
party  administration  with  Imperialism  on  the  brain 
and  rank  Protection  on  their  programme.  They  might 
do  mischief  which  it  would  take  centuries  to  undo." 

"We  understand  one  another,  Lord  Redford,"  Man- 
nering said,  simply.  "I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you. 
This  is  my  turning." 

Mannering,  when  he  found  himself  alone  in  his  study, 
drew  a  little  sigh  of  relief.  He  flung  himself  into  an 
easy-chair,  and  sat  with  his  hands  pressed  against  his 
temples.  The  events  of  the  day,  from  the  morning  at 
Sandringham  to  his  recent  conversation  with  Lord  Red- 
ford,  were  certainly  of  sufficiently  exciting  a  nature  to 
provide  him  with  food  for  thought.  And  yet  his  mind 
was  full  of  one  thing  only,  this  chance  meeting  with 
Berenice.  It  was  wonderful  to  him  that  she  should  have 
changed  so  little.  He  himself  felt  that  the  last  two 
years  were  equal  to  a  decade,  that  events  on  the  other 
side  of  that  line  with  which  his  life  was  riven  were 


276  A  LOST  LEADER 

events  with  which  some  other  person  was  concerned, 
certainly  not  the  Lawrence  Mannering  of  to-day,  And 
yet  he  knew  now  that  the  battle  which  he  had  fought 
was  far  from  a  final  one.  Her  power  over  him  was 
unchanged.  He  was  face  to  face  once  more  with  the 
old  problem.  His  life  was  sworn  to  the  service  of  the 
people.  He  had  crowded  his  days  with  thoughts  and 
deeds  and  plans  for  them.  Almost  every  personal 
luxury  and  pleasure  had  been  abnegated.  He  had 
found  a  sort  of  fierce  delight  in  the  asceticism  of  his 
daily  life,  in  the  unflinching  firmness  with  which  he 
had  barred  the  gates  which  might  lead  him  into  smoother 
and  happier  ways.  To-night  he  was  beset  with  a  sudden 
fear.  He  rose  and  looked  at  himself  in  the  glass.  He 
was  pale  and  wan.  His  face  lacked  the  robust  vitality 
of  a  few  years  ago.  He  was  ageing  fast.  He  was 
conscious  of  certain  disquieting  symptoms  in  the 
routine  of  his  daily  life.  He  threw  himself  back  into 
the  chair  with  a  little  groan.  The  mockery  of  his 
life  of  ceaseless  toil  seemed  suddenly  to  spread  itself 
out  before  him,  a  grim  and  unlovely  jest.  What  if 
his  strength  should  go?  What  if  all  this  labour  and 
self-denial  should  be  in  vain?  He  found  himself  grow- 
ing giddy  at  the  thought. 

He  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  wine.  Then  he  went 
to  the  telephone  and  rang  up  a  doctor  who  lived  near. 
Very  soon,  with  coat  and  waistcoat  off,  he  was  going 
through  a  somewhat  prolonged  examination.  After- 
wards the  doctor  sat  down  opposite  to  him  and  accepted 
a  cigar. 

"What  made  you  send  for  me  this  evening?"  he 
asked,  curiously. 

Mannering  hesitated. 


HESTER  THINKS  IT  "A  PITY"          277 

"An  impulse,"  he  said.  "To-morrrow  I  should  have 
no  time  to  come  to  you.  I  wasn't  feeling  quite  my- 
self, and  it  is  possible  that  I  may  be  undertaking  some 
very  important  work  before  long." 

"I  shouldn't  if  I  were  you,"  the  doctor  remarked, 
quietly. 

"The  work  is  of  such  a  nature,"  Mannering  said, 
"that  I  could  not  refuse  it.  It  may  not  come,  but  if 
it  does  I  must  go  through  with  it." 

"I  doubt  whether  you  will  succeed,"  the  doctor 
said.  "There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  you  except 
that  you  have  been  drawing  on  your  reserve  stock  of 
strength  to  such  an  extent  that  you  are  on  the  verge 
of  a  collapse.  The  longer  you  stave  it  off  the  more 
complete  it  will  be." 

"You  are  a  Job's  comforter,"  Mannering  remarked, 
with  a  smile.  "Send  me  some  physic,  and  I  will  take 
things  as  easy  as  I  can." 

"I'll  send  you  some,"  the  doctor  answered,  "but 
it  won't  do  you  much  good.  What  you  want  is  rest 
and  amusement." 

Mannering  laughed,  and  showed  him  out.  When 
he  returned  to  his  study  Hester  was  there,  just  returned 
from  a  visit  to  the  theatre  with  some  friends.  She 
threw  off  her  wrap  and  looked  through  the  letters 
which  had  come  by  the  evening's  post. 

"Did  you  see  this  from  Richard  Fardell?"  she  asked 
him.  "Parkins  is  dead  at  last.  Fardoll  says  that  he 
has  been  quite  childish  for  the  last  eighteen  months! 
Are  you  ill?"  she  broke  off,  suddenly. 

Mannering,  who  was  lying  back  in  his  easy-chair, 
white  almost  to  the  lips,  roused  himself  with  an  effort. 
He  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine  and  drank  it  off. 


278  A  LOST  LEADER 

"I'm  not  ill,"  he  said,  with  rather  a  weak  smile, 
"but  I'm  a  little  tired." 

"Who  was  your  visitor?"  she  asked. 

"A  doctor.  I  felt  a  little  run  down,  so  I  sent  for 
him.  Of  course  he  told  me  the  usual  story.  Rest 
and  a  holiday." 

She  came  and  sat  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  Every 
year  she  grew  less  and  less  like  her  mother  Her  hair 
was  smoothly  brushed  back  from  her  forehead,  and  her 
features  were  distinctly  intellectual.  She  was  by  far 
the  best  secretary  Mannering  had  ever  had. 

"You  need  some  one  to  look  after  you,"  she  said, 
decisively. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  do  that  pretty  well,"  he 
answered.  "I  don't  want  any  one  else." 

"You  need  some  one  with  more  authority  than  I 
have,"  she  said.  "You  ought  to  marry." 

"Marry!"  he  gasped. 

"Yes." 

"Any  particular  person?" 

"Of  course!    You  know  whom." 

Mannering  did  not  reply  at  once.  He  was  looking 
steadfastly  into  the  fire,  and  the  gloom  in  his  face 
was  unlightened. 

"Hester,"  he  said,  at  last,  in  a  very  low  tone,  "I  will 
tell  you,  if  you  like,  a  short,  a  very  short  chapter  of  my 
life.  It  lasted  a  few  hours,  a  day  or  so,  more  or  less. 
Yet  of  course  it  has  made  a  difference  always." 

"I  should  like  to  hear  it,"  she  whispered. 

"The  two  great  events  of  my  life,"  he  said,  "came 
together.  "I  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  the  Duchess 
of  Lenchester  at  the  same  time  that  I  found  myself 
forced  to  sever  my  connexion  with  the  Liberal  party. 


HESTER  THINKS  IT  "A  PITY"          279 

You  know,  of  course,  that  the  Duchess  has  always 
been  a  great  figure  in  politics.  She  has  ambitions, 
and  her  political  creed  is  almost  a  part  of  the  religion 
of  her  life.  She  looked  upon  my  apostasy  with  horror. 
It  came  between  us  at  the  very  moment  when  I  thought 
that  I  had  found  in  life  the  one  great  and  beautiful 
thing." 

"If  ever  she  let  it  come  between  you,"  Hester  in- 
terrupted, softly,  "I  believe  that  she  has  repented. 
We  women  are  quick  to  find  out  those  things,  you 
know,"  she  added,  "and  I  am  sure  that  I  am  right. 
She  has  never  married  any  one  else.  I  do  not  believe 
that  she  ever  will." 

"It  is  too  late,"  Mannering  said.  "A  union  between 
us  now  could  only  lead  to  unhappiness.  The  disinte- 
gration of  parties  is  slowly  commencing,  and  I  think 
that  the  next  few  years  will  find  me  still  further  apart 
than  I  am  to-day  from  my  old  friends.  Berenice" — 
he  slipped  so  easily  into  calling  her  so — "is  heart  and 
soul  with  them." 

"At  least,"  Hester  said,  "I  think  that  for  both 
your  sakes  you  should  give  her  the  opportunity  of 
choosing." 

"Even  that,"  he  said,  "would  not  be  wise.  We 
are  man  and  woman  still,  you  see,  Hester,  and  there 
are  moments  when  sentiment  is  strong  enough  to 
triumph  over  principle  and  sweep  our  minds  bare  of 
all  the  every-day  thoughts.  But  afterwards — there 
is  always  the  afterwards.  The  conflict  must  come. 
Reason  stays  with  us  always,  and  sentiment  might 
weaken  with  the  years." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"The  Duchess  is  a  woman,"  she  said,  "and  the  hold 


280  A  LOST  LEADER 

of  all  other  things  grows  weak  when  she  loves.  Give 
her  the  chance." 

"Don't!"  Mannering  exclaimed,  almost  sharply. 
"You  can't  see  this  matter  as  I  do.  I  have  vowed  my 
life  now.  I  have  seen  my  duty,  and  I  have  kept  my 
face  turned  steadily  towards  it.  Once  I  was  contented 
with  very  different  things,  and  I  think  that  I  came  as 
near  happiness  then  as  a  man  often  does.  But  those 
days  have  gone  by.  They  have  left  a  whole  world 
of  delightful  memories,  but  I  have  locked  the  doors  of 
the  past  behind  me." 

Hester  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  making  a  mistake,"  she  said.  "Two 
people  who  love  one  another,  and  who  are  honest  hi 
their  opinions,  find  happiness  sooner  or  later  if  they 
have  the  courage  to  seek  for  it.  Don't  you  know," 
she  continued,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "that — she 
understood?  I  always  like  to  think  what  I  believe 
to  be  the  truth.  She  went  away  to  leave  you  free." 

Mannering  rose  to  his  feet  and  pointed  to  the  clock. 

"It  is  time  that  you  and  I  were  in  bed,  Hester," 
he  said.  "Remember  that  we  have  a  busy  morning." 

"It  seems  a  pity,"  she  murmured,  as  she  wished 
him  good-night.  "A  great  pity!" 


CHAPTER  III 

SUMMONED   TO    WINDSOR 

BERENICE,  who  had  just  returned  from  making 
a  call,  was  standing  in  the  hall,  glancing  through 
the  cards  displayed  upon  a  small  round  table.  The 
major-domo  of  her  household  came  hurrying  out  from 
his  office. 

"There  is  a  young  lady,  your  Grace,"  he  announced, 
"who  has  been  waiting  to  see  you  for  half  an  hour. 
Her  name  is  Miss  Phillimore." 

"Where  is  she?"  Berenice  asked. 

"In  the  library,  your  Grace." 

"Show  her  into  my  own  room,"  Berenice  said.  "I 
will  see  her  at  once." 

Hester  was  a  little  nervous,  but  Berenice  set  her 
immediately  at  her  ease  by  the  graciousness  of  her 
manner.  They  talked  for  some  tune  of  Bonestre. 
Then  there  was  a  moment's  pause.  Hester  sum- 
moned up  her  courage. 

"I  am  afraid,"  she  said,  "that  you  may  consider 
what  I  am  going  to  say  rather  a  liberty.  I've  thought 
it  all  out,  and  I  decided  to  come  to  you.  I  couldn't 
see  any  other  way." 

Berenice  smiled  encouragingly. 

"I  will  promise  you,"  she  said,  "that  I  will  consider 
it  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,"  Hester  said.  "I  have 
come  here  because  Mr.  Marmering  is  the  greatest  friend 


282  A  LOST  LEADER 

I  have  in  the  world.  He  stands  to  me  for  all  the 
relatives  most  girls  have,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  him 
indeed.  I  scarcely  remember  my  father,  but  Mr. 
Mannering  was  always  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a 
child.  You  know,  perhaps,  that  I  am  living  with 
him  now  as  his  secretary?" 

Berenice  nodded  pleasantly. 

"I  see  him  every  day,"  Hester  continued,  "and  I 
notice  things.  He  has  changed  a  great  deal  during 
the  last  few  years.  I  am  getting  very  anxious  about 
him." 

"He  is  not  ill,  I  hope?"  Berenice  asked.  "I  too 
noticed  a  change.  It  grieved  me  very  much." 

"He  is  simply  working  himself  to  death,"  Hester 
continued,  "without  relaxation  or  pleasure  of  any  sort. 
And  all  the  time  he  is  unhappy.  Other  men,  however 
hard  they  work,  have  their  hobbies  and  their  occasional 
holidays.  He  has  neither.  And  I  think  that  I  know 
why.  He  fights  all  the  time  to  forget." 

"To  forget  what?"  Berenice  asked,  slowly  turning 
her  head. 

"To  forget  how  near  he  came  once  to  being  very 
happy,"  Hester  answered,  boldly.  "To  forget — you!" 

Then  her  heart  sang  a  little  song  of  triumph,  for 
she  saw  the  instant  change  in  the  still,  cold  face  turned 
now  a  little  away  from  her.  She  saw  the  proud  lips 
tremble  and  the  unmistakable  light  leap  out  from  the 
dark  eyes.  She  saw  the  colour  rush  into  the  cheeks, 
and  she  had  no  more  fear.  She  rose  from  her  chair 
and  dropped  on  one  knee  by  Berenice's  side. 

"Make  him  happy,  please,"  she  begged.  "You  can 
do  it.  You  only!  He  loves  you!" 

Berenice  smiled,  although  her  eyes  were  wet  with 


SUMMONED  TO  WINDSOR  283 

tears.  She  laid  her  long,  delicate  fingers  upon  the 
other's  hand. 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  she  protested,  "what  can  I 
do?  Mr.  Mannering  won't  come  near  me.  He  won't 
even  write  to  me.  I  can't  take  him  by  storm,  can  I?" 

"He  is  so  foolish,"  Hester  said,  also  smiling.  "He 
will  not  understand  how  unimportant  all  other  things 
are  when  two  people  care  for  one  another.  He  talks 
about  the  difference  in  your  politics,  as  though  that 
were  sufficient  to  keep  you  apart!" 

Berenice  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"There  was  a  time,"  she  said,  softly,  "when  I  thought 
so,  too." 

"Exactly!"  Hester  declared.  "And  he  doesn't  know, 
of  course,  that  you  don't  think  so  now." 

Berenice  smiled  slightly. 

"You  must  remember,  dear,"  she  said,  "that  Mr. 
Mannering  and  I  are  hi  rather  a  peculiar  position. 
My  great-grandfather,  my  father  and  my  uncle  were  all 
Prime  Ministers  of  England,  and  they  were  all  staunch 
Liberals.  My  family  has  always  taken  its  politics  very 
seriously  indeed,  and  so  have  I.  It  is  not  a  little  thing, 
this,  after  all." 

"But  you  will  do  it!"  Hester  exclaimed.  "I  am  sure 
that  you  will." 

Berenice  rose  to  her  feet.  A  sense  of  excitement 
was  suddenly  quivering  in  her  veins,  her  heart  was 
beating  fiercely.  After  all,  this  child  was  wise.  She 
had  been  drifting  into  the  dull,  passionless  life  of  a 
middle-aged  woman.  All  the  joys  of  youth  seemed 
suddenly  to  be  sweeping  up  from  her  heart,  mocking 
the  serenity  of  her  days,  these  stagnant  days,  sheltered 
from  the  great  winds  of  life,  where  the  waves  were 


284  A  LOST  LEADER 

ripples  and  the  hours  changeless.    She  raised  her  arms 

for  a  moment  and  dropped  them  to  her  side. 
"Oh,  I  do  not  know!"  she  cried.     "It  is  such  an 

upheaval.    If  he  were  here — if  he  asked  me  himself. 

But  he  will  never  come  now." 
"I  believe  that  he  would  come  to-morrow,"  Hester 

said,  "if  he  were  sure- 
Berenice  laughed  softly.    There  was  colour  in  her 

cheeks  as  she  turned  to  Hester. 
"Tell  him  to  come  and  have  tea  with  me  to-morrow 

afternoon,"  she  said.     "I  shall  be  quite  alone." 

Hester  felt  all  her  confidence  slipping  away  from 
her.  The  echoes  of  her  breathless,  passionate  words 
had  scarcely  died  away,  and  Mannering,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, was  unmoved.  His  still,  cold  face  showed 
no  signs  of  agitation,  his  dark,  beringed  eyes  were  full 
of  nothing  but  an  intense  weariness. 

"Do  I  understand,  Hester,"  he  asked,  "that  you 
have  been  to  see  the  Duchess? — that  you  have  spoken 
of  these  things  to  her?" 

Her  heart  sank.  His  tone  was  almost  censorious. 
Nevertheless,  she  stood  her  ground. 

"Yes!  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  And  I  am  glad 
that  I  went.  You  are  very  clever  people,  both  of  you, 
but  you  are  spoiling  your  lives  for  the  sake  of  a  little 
common  sense.  It  was  necessary  for  some  one  to 
interfere." 

Mannering  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"You  meant  kindly,  Hester,"  he  said,  "but  it  was 
a  mistake.  The  time  when  that  might  have  been 
possible  has  gone  by.  Neither  she  nor  I  can  call  back 
the  hand  of  time.  The  last  two  years  have  made  an 


SUMMONED  TO  WINDSOR  285 

old  man  of  me.  I  have  no  longer  my  enthusiasm. 
I  am  in  the  whirlpool,  and  I  must  fight  my  way 
through  to  the  end." 

She  sat  at  his  feet.  He  was  still  in  the  easy-chair 
into  which  he  had  sunk  on  his  first  coming  into  the 
room.  He  had  been  speaking  in  the  House  late, 
amidst  all  the  excitement  of  a  political  crisis. 

"Why  fight  alone,"  she  murmured,  "when  she  is 
willing  to  come  to  you?" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"There  would  be  conditions,"  he  said,  "and  she 
would  not  understand.  I  may  be  in  office  in  a  month 
with  most  of  her  friends  in  opposition.  The  situation 
would  be  impossible!" 

"Rubbish!"  Hester  declared.  "The  Duchess  is  too 
great  a  woman  to  lose  so  utterly  her  sense  of  propor- 
tion. Don't  you  understand — that  she  loves  you?" 

Mannering  laughed  bitterly. 

"She  must  love  a  shadow,  then!"  he  said,  "for  the 
man  she  knew  does  not  exist  any  longer.  Poor  little 
girl,  are  you  disappointed?"  he  added,  more  kindly. 
"I  am  sorry!" 

"I  am  disappointed  to  hear  you  talking  like  this," 
she  declared.  "I  will  not  believe  that  it  is  more  than 
a  inood.  You  are  overtired,  perhaps!" 

"Ay!"  he  said.  "But  I  have  been  overtired  for  along 
time.  The  strength  the  gods  give  us  lasts  a  weary 
while.  You  must  send  my  excuses  to  the  Duchess, 
Hester.  The  fates  are  leading  me  another  way." 

"I  won't  do  it,"  she  sobbed.  "You  shall  be  reason- 
able! I  will  make  you  go!" 

He  shook  his  head. 

"If  you  could,"  he  murmured,  "you  might  alter  the 


286  A  LOST  LEADER 

writing  on  one  little  page  of  history.  We  defeated 
the  Government  to-night  badly,  and  I  am  going  to 
Windsor  to-morrow  afternoon." 

Hester  rose  to  her  feet  and  paced  the  room  rest- 
lessly. Mannering  had  spoken  without  exultation. 
His  pallid  face  seemed  to  her  to  have  grown  thin  and 
hard.  He  saw  himself  the  possible  Prime  Minister  of 
the  morrow  without  the  slightest  suggestion  of  any 
sort  of  gratified  ambition. 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  say  that  I  am  glad  or 
not,"  Hester  declared,  stopping  once  more  by  his  side. 
"If  you  are  going  to  shut  yourself  off  from  everything 
else  hi  life  which  makes  for  happiness,  to  forget  that 
you  are  a  man,  and  turn  yourself  into  a  law-making 
machine,  well,  then,  I  am  sorry.  I  think  that  your 
success  will  be  a  curse  to  you.  I  think  that  you  will 
live  to  regret  it." 

Mannering  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with  a  gleam 
of  his  old  self  shining  out  of  his  eyes.  A  sudden  pathos, 
a  wave  of  self-pity  had  softened  his  face. 

"Dear  child!"  he  said,  gravely,  "I  cannot  make 
you  understand.  I  carry  a  burden  from  which  no  one 
can  free  me.  For  good  or  for  evil  the  powers  that  be 
have  set  my  feet  in  the  path  of  the  climbers,  and  for 
the  sake  of  those  whose  sufferings  I  have  seen  I  must 
struggle  upwards  to  the  end.  Berenice  and  the  Duchess 
of  Lenchester  are  two  very  different  persons.  I  can- 
not take  one  into  my  life  without  the  other.  It  is 
because  I  love  her,  Hester,  that  I  let  her  go.  Good- 
night, child!" 

She  kissed  his  hand  and  went  slowly  to  her  room, 
stumbling  upstairs  through  a  mist  of  tears.  There 
was  nothing  more  that  she  could  do. 


CHAPTER  IV 

CHECKMATE   TO   BORROWDEAN 

MANNERING'S  town  house,  none  too  large  at 
any  time,  was  transformed  into  a  little  hive 
of  industry.  Two  hurriedly  appointed  secretaries 
were  at  work  in  the  dining-room,  and  Hester  was 
busy  typing  in  her  own  little  sanctum. 

Mannering  sat  in  his  study  before  a  table  covered 
with  papers,  and  for  the  first  tune  during  the  day  was 
alone  for  a  few  moments. 

His  servant  brought  in  a  card.  Mannering  glanced 
at  it  and  frowned. 

"The  gentleman  said  that  he  would  not  keep  you 
for  more  than  a  moment,  sir,"  the  servant  announced 
quietly,  mindful  of  the  half-sovereign  which  had  been 
slipped  into  his  hand. 

Mannering  still  looked  at  the  card  doubtfully. 

"You  can  show  him  up,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Very  good,  sir!" 

The  man  withdrew,  and  reappeared  to  usher  in 
Sir  Leslie  Borrowdean.  Mannering  greeted  him  with- 
out offering  his  hand. 

"You  wished  to  see  me,  Sir  Leslie?"  he  asked. 

Borrowdean  came  slowly  into  the  room.  He  closed 
the  door  behind  him. 

"I  hope,"  he  said,  "that  you  will  not  consider  my 
presence  an  intrusion!" 


288  A  LOST  LEADER 

"You  have  business  with  me,  I  presume,"  Mannering 
answered,  coldly.  "Pray  sit  down." 

Borrowdean  ignored  the  chair,  towards  which  Man- 
nering had  motioned.  He  came  and  stood  by  the 
side  of  the  table. 

"Unless  your  memory,  Mannering,"  he  said,  with  a 
hard  little  laugh,  "is  as  short  as  the  proverbial 
politician's,  you  can  scarcely  be  surprised  at  my  visit." 

Mannering  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  said  nothing. 

"I  must  confess,"  Borrowdean  continued,  "that  I 
scarcely  expected  to  find  it  necessary  for  me  to  come 
here  and  remind  you  that  it  was  I  who  am  responsible 
for  your  reappearance  in  politics." 

"I  am  not  likely,"  Mannering  said,  slowly,  "to  forget 
your  good  offices  in  that  respect." 

"I  felt  sure  that  you  would  not,"  Borrowdean 
answered.  "Yet  you  must  not  altogether  blame  me 
for  my  coming!  I  understand  that  the  list  of  your 
proposed  Cabinet  is  to  be  completed  to-morrow  after- 
noon, and  as  yet  I  have  heard  nothing  from  you." 

"Your  information,"  Mannering  said,  "is  quite 
correct.  In  fact,  my  list  is  complete  already.  If 
your  visit  here  is  one  of  curiosity,  I  have  no  objec- 
tion to  gratify  it.  Here  is  a  list  of  the  names  I  have 
selected." 

He  handed  a  sheet  of  paper  to  Borrowdean,  who 
glanced  it  eagerly  down.  Afterwards  he  looked  up 
and  met  Mannering's  calm  gaze.  There  was  an  ab- 
solute silence  for  several  seconds. 

"My  name,"  Borrowdean  said,  hoarsely,  "is  not 
amongst  these!" 

"It  really  never  occurred  to  me  for  a  single  second 
to  place  it  there,"  Mannering  answered. 


CHECKMATE  TO  BORROWDEAN         289 

Borrowdean  drew  a  little  breath.  He  was  deathly 
pale. 

"You  include  Redford,"  he  said.  "He  is  a  more 
violent  partizan  than  I  have  ever  been.  I  have  heard 
you  say  a  dozen  times  that  you  disapprove  of  turning 
a  man  out  of  office  directly  he  has  got  into  the  swing 
of  it.  Has  any  one  any  fault  to  find  with  me?  I  have 
done  my  duty,  and  done  it  thoroughly.  I  don't  know 
what  your  programme  may  be,  but  if  Redford  can 
accept  it  I  am  sure  that  I  can." 

"  Possibly,"  Mannering  answered.  "  I  have  this  pecul- 
iarity, though.  Call  it  a  whim,  if  you  like.  I  desire 
to  see  my  Cabinet  composed  of  honourable  men." 

Borrowdean  started  back  as  though  he  had  received 
a  blow. 

"Am  I  to  accept  that  as  a  statement  of  your  opinion 
of  me?"  he  demanded. 

"It  seems  fairly  obvious,"  Mannering  answered, 
"that  such  was  my  intention." 

"You  owe  your  place  in  public  life  to  me,"  Borrow- 
dean exclaimed. 

"If  I  do,"  Mannering  answered,  "do  you  imagine 
that  I  consider  myself  your  debtor?  I  tell  you  that 
to-day,  at  this  moment,  I  have  no  political  ambitions. 
Before  you  appeared  at  Blakely  and  commenced  your 
underhand  scheming,  I  was  a  contented,  almost  a 
happy  man.  You  imagined  that  my  reappearance 
in  political  life  would  be  beneficial  to  you,  and  with 
that  in  view,  and  that  only,  you  set  yourself  to  get 
me  back.  You  succeeded!  We  won't  say  how!  If 
you  are  disappointed  with  the  result  what  concern 
is  that  of  mine?  You  have  called  yourself  my  friend. 
I  have  not  for  some  time  considered  you  as  such. 


290  A  LOST  LEADER 

I  owe  you  nothing.  I  have  no  feeling  for  you  save 
one  of  contempt.  To  me  you  figure  as  the  modern 
political  adventurer,  living  on  his  wits  and  the  credu- 
lity of  other  people.  Better  see  how  it  will  pay  you 
hi  opposition." 

Borrowdean,  a  cold-blooded  and  calculating  man, 
knew  for  the  first  tune  in  his  life  what  it  was  to  let 
his  passions  govern  him.  Every  word  which  this 
man  had  spoken  was  truth,  and  therefore  all  the  more 
bitter  to  hear.  He  saw  himself  beaten  and  humiliated, 
outwitted  by  the  man  whom  he  had  sought  to  make 
his  tool.  A  slow  paroxysm  of  anger  held  him  rigid.  He 
was  white  to  the  lips.  His  nerves  and  senses  were  all 
tingling.  There  was  red  fire  before  his  eyes. 

"If  your  business  with  me  is  ended,"  Mannering 
said,  waving  his  hand  towards  the  door,  "you  will 
forgive  me  if  I  remind  you  that  I  am  much  occupied." 

Borrowdean  snatched  up  the  square  glass  paper 
cutter  from  the  table,  and  without  a  second's 
warning  he  struck  Mannering  with  it  full  upon  the 
temple. 

"Damn  you!"  he  said. 

Mannering  tried  to  struggle  to  his  feet,  but  col- 
lapsed, and  fell  upon  the  floor.  Borrowdean  kicked 
his  prostrate  body. 

"Now  go  and  form  your  Cabinet,"  he  muttered. 
"May  you  wake  in  hell!" 

Borrowdean,  who  left  the  study  a  madman,  was  a 
sane  person  the  moment  he  began  to  descend  the  stairs 
and  found  himself  face  to  face  with  a  tall,  heavily 
cloaked  woman.  The  flash  of  familiar  jewels  in  her 
hair,  something,  perhaps,  in  the  quiet  stateliness  of  her 


CHECKMATE  TO  BORROWDEAN         291 

movements,  betrayed  her  identity  to  him.  His  heart 
gave  a  quick  jump.  A  sickening  fear  stole  over  him. 
He  barred  the  way. 

"Duchess!"  he  exclaimed. 

She  waved  him  aside  with  an  impatient  gesture. 
He  could  see  the  frown  gathering  upon  her  face. 

"Sir  Leslie!"  she  replied.  "Please  let  me  pass! 
I  want  to  see  Mr.  Mannering  before  any  one  else 
goes  up!" 

Sir  Leslie  drew  immediately  to  one  side. 

"Pray  do  not  let  me  detain  you,"  he  said,  coolly. 
"Between  ourselves,  I  do  not  think  that  Mannering 
is  in  a  fit  state  to  see  anybody.  I  have  not  been  able 
to  get  a  coherent  word  out  of  him.  He  walks  all  the 
time  backwards  and  forwards  like  a  man  demented." 

Berenice  smiled  slightly. 

"You  are  annoyed,"  she  declared,  "because  you 
will  be  in  opposition  once  more!" 

"If  I  go  into  opposition  again,"  Borrowdean  an- 
swered, "it  will  be  my  own  choice.  Mannering  has 
asked  me  to  join  his  Cabinet." 

Berenice  raised  her  eyebrows.  Her  surprise  was 
genuine. 

"You  amaze  me!"  she  declared. 

"I  was  amazed  myself,"  he  answered. 

She  passed  on  her  way,  and  Borrowdean  descend- 
ing, took  a  cab  quietly  home.  Berenice,  with  her  hand 
upon  the  door,  hesitated.  Hester  had  purposely  sent 
her  up  alone.  They  had  waited  until  they  had  heard 
Borrowdean  leave  the  room.  And  now  at  the  last 
moment  she  hesitated.  She  was  a  proud  woman.  She 
was  departing  now,  for  his  sake,  from  the  conventions 
of  a  lifetime.  He  had  declined  to  come  to  her;  no 


292  A  LOST  LEADER 

matter,  she  had  come  to  him  instead.  Suppose — he 
should  not  be  glad?  Suppose  she  should  fail  to  see 
in  his  face  her  justification?  It  was  very  quiet  in  the 
room.  She  could  not  even  hear  the  scratching  of  his 
pen.  Twice  her  fingers  closed  upon  the  knob  of  the 
door,  and  twice  she  hesitated.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
facing  Hester  below  she  would  probably  have  gone 
silently  away. 

And  then — she  heard  a  sound.  It  was  not  at  all 
the  sort  of  sound  for  which  she  had  been  listening, 
but  it  brought  her  hesitation  to  a  sudden  end.  She 
threw  open  the  door,  and  a  little  cry  of  amazement 
broke  from  her  trembling  lips.  It  was  indeed  a  groan 
which  she  had  heard.  Mannering  was  stretched  upon 
the  floor,  his  eyes  half  closed,  his  face  ghastly  white. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  motionless,  a  whole  torrent 
of  arrested  speech  upon  her  quivering  lips.  Then  she 
dropped  on  her  knees  by  his  side  and  lifted  his  cold 
hand. 

"Oh,  my  love!"  she  murmured.    "My  love!" 
But  he  made  no  sign.    Then  she  stood  up,  and  her 
cry  of  horror  rang  through  the  house. 


CHAPTER  V 

A    BRAZEN    PROCEEDING 

MANNERING  opened  his  eyes  lazily.  His  com- 
panion had  stopped  suddenly  in  his  reading. 
He  appeared  to  be  examining  a  certain  paragraph 
in  the  paper  with  much  interest.  Mannering  stretched 
out  his  hand  for  a  match,  and  relit  his  cigarette. 

"Read  it  out,  Richard,"  he  said.     "Don't  mind  me." 

The  young  man  started  slightly. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  thought  that 
you  were  asleep!" 

Mannering  smiled. 

"What  about  the  paragraph?"  he  asked. 

"It  is  just  this,"  Richard  answered,  reading.  "'The 
Duchess  of  Lenchester  and  Miss  Clara  Mannering  have 
arrived  at  Claridge's  from  the  South  of  Italy.' ' 

Mannering  looked  at  him  keenly. 

"I  am  curious  to  know  which  part  of  that  announce- 
ment you  find  so  interesting,"  he  said. 

"Certainly  not  the  latter  part,  sir,"  the  young  man 
answered.  "I  thought  perhaps  you  would  have  no- 
ticed— I  meant  to  speak  to  you  as  soon  as  you  were 
a  little  stronger — I  have  asked  Hester  to  be  my  wife!" 

"Then  all  I  can  say,"  Mannering  declared,  gravely, 
"is,  that  you  are  a  remarkably  sensible  young  man. 
I  am  quite  strong  enough  to  bear  a  shock  of  that  sort." 

"I'm  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir,"  Richard 


294  A  LOST  LEADER 

said.     "Of  course  I  shouldn't  think  of  taking  her  away 
until  you  were  quite  yourself  again." 

"The  cheek  of  the  young  man!"  Mannering  mur- 
mured. ' '  She  wouldn'  t  go ! " 

"I  don't  believe  she  would,"  Richard  laughed.  "Of 
course  we  consider  that  you  are  very  nearly  well  now." 

"You  can  consider  what  you  like,"  Mannering  an- 
swered, "but  I  shall  remain  an  invalid  as  long  as  it 
pleases  me." 

Hester  appeared  on  the  upper  lawn,  and  Richard 
rose  up  at  once. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  sir,"  he  said,  "I  think  that  I 
should  like  to  go  and  tell  Hester  that  I  have  spoken 
to  you." 

Mannering  nodded.  He  watched  the  two  young 
people  stroll  off  together  towards  the  rose-garden, 
talking  earnestly.  He  heard  the  little  iron  gate  open 
and  close.  He  watched  them  disappear  behind  the 
hedge  of  laurels.  A  puff  of  breeze  brought  the  faint 
odour  of  roses  to  him,  and  with  it  a  sudden  host  of 
memories.  His  eyes  grew  wistful.  He  felt  some- 
thing tugging  at  his  heartstrings.  Only  a  few  years 
ago  life  here  had  seemed  so  wonderful  a  thing — only 
a  few  years,  but  with  all  the  passions  and  struggles 
of  a  lifetime  crowded  into  them.  The  maelstrom  was 
there  still,  but  he  himself  had  crept  out  of  it.  What 
was  there  left?  Peace,  haunted  with  memories,  rest, 
troubled  by  desire.  He  heard  the  sound  of  their 
voices  hi  the  rose-garden,  and  he  turned  away  with 
a  pain  in  his  heart  of  which  he  was  ashamed.  These 
things  were  for  the  young!  If  youth  had  passed  him 
by,  still  there  were  compensations! 

Compensations,  aye — but  he  wanted  none  of  them! 


A  BRAZEN  PROCEEDING  295 

He  picked  up  the  newspaper,  and  with  a  little  difficulty, 
for  his  sight  was  not  yet  good,  found  a  certain  par- 
agraph. Then  the  paper  slipped  again  from  his  fingers, 
and  he  heard  the  sweeping  of  a  woman's  dress  across 
the  smooth-shaven  lawn.  He  gripped  the  sides  of  his 
chair  and  set  his  teeth  hard.  He  struggled  to  rise, 
but  she  moved  swiftly  up  to  him  with  a  gesture  of 
remonstrance. 

"Please  don't  move,"  she  exclaimed,  as  though 
her  coming  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 
"I  am  going  to  sit  down  with  you,  if  I  may!" 

He  murmured  an  expression  of  conventional  delight. 
She  wore  a  dress  of  some  soft  white  material,  and 
her  figure  was  as  wonderful  as  ever.  He  recovered 
himself  almost  at  once  and  studied  her  admiringly. 

" Paris?"  he  murmured. 

"Paquin!"  she  answered.  "I  remembered  that  you 
liked  me  in  white." 

"But  where  on  earth  have  you  come  from?"  he 
asked. 

"The  Farm,"  she  answered.  "I'm  going  to  take  it 
for  three  months — if  you're  decent  to  me!" 

"That  rascal  Richard!"  he  muttered.  "Never  told 
me  a  word!  Pretended  to  be  surprised  when  he  heard 
you  and  Clara  were  back." 

She  nodded. 

"Clara  is  going  to  marry  that  Frenchman  next 
month,"  she  said,  "and  I  shall  be  looking  for  another 
companion.  Do  you  know  of  one?" 

"I  haven't  another  niece,"  he  answered. 

"Even  if  you  had,"  she  said,  "I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  want  something  different.  Will  you 
listen  to  me  patiently  for  a  moment?" 


296  A  LOST  LEADER 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  marry  me,  please?"  she  said.  "No,  don't 
interrupt.  I  want  there  to  be  no  misunderstand- 
ings this  time.  I  don't  care  whether  you  are  an 
invalid  or  not.  I  don't  care  whether  you  are  going 
back  into  politics  or  not.  I  don't  care  whether  we 
live  here  or  in  any  other  corner  of  the  world.  You 
can  call  yourself  anything,  from  an  anarchist  to  a 
Tory — or  be  anything.  You  can  have  all  your  work- 
ingmen  here  to  dinner  in  flannel  shirts,  if  you  like, 
and  I'll  play  bowls  with  their  wives  on  the  lawn. 
Nothing  matters  but  this  one  thing,  Lawrence.  Will 
you  marry  me — and  try  to  care  a  little?" 

"This  is  absolutely,"  Mannering  declared,  taking 
her  into  his  arms,  "the  most  brazen  proceeding!" 

"It's  a  good  deal  better  than  the  bungle  we  made 
of  it  before,"  she  murmured. 


THE   END 


E.  Phillips  Oppenheim's  Novels 
A  PRINCE  OF  SINNERS 

Illustrated  by  OSCAR  WILSON.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 

Thoroughly  matured,  brilliantly  constructed,  and  convincingly  told. 
—  London  Times. 

It  is  rare  that  so  much  knowledge  of  the  world,  taken  as  a  whole,  is 
set  between  two  covers  of  a  novel.  —  Chicago  Daily  News. 

ANNA  THE  ADVENTURESS 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.      12mo.      Cloth.      $1.50 

A  story  of  London  life  that  is  at  once  unusual,  original,  consistent, 
and  delightful.  —  Buffalo  Express. 

An  entrancing  story  which  has  seldom  been  surpassed  as  a  study  of 
feminine  character  and  sentiment  —  Outlook,  London. 

ENOCH  STRONE 

Illustrated  by  J.  W.  F.  FERGUSON.     12mo.    Cloth.    $1.50 

In  no  other  novel  has  Mr.  Oppenheim  created  such  lifelike  characters 
or  handled  his  plot  with  such  admirable  force  and  restraint  as  in  this 
capital  story  of  the  career  of  masterful  Enoch  Strone. 

A  SLEEPING  MEMORY 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 

A  story  in  occultism,  but  with  all  its  mysticism  and  its  dealings  with 
the  unknowable  the  book  is  never  dull,  the  thread  of  the  human  story 
in  it  is  never  lost  sight  of  for  a  moment.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

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E.  Phillips  Oppenheim's  Novels 
MYSTERIOUS  MR.  SABIN 

Illustrated  by  J.  AMBROSE  WALTON.    12mo.    Cloth.    $1.50 

Emphatically  a  good  story  —  strong,  bold,  original,  and  admirably 
told.  —  Literature,  London. 

Intensely  readable  for  the  dramatic  force  with  which  the  story  is 
told,  the  absolute  originality  of  the  underlying  creative  thought,  and 
the  strength  of  all  the  men  and  women  who  fill  the  pages.  — Pittsburgh 
Time*. 

THE  YELLOW  CRAYON 

Containing  the  Further  Adventures  of  "Mysterious 
Mr.  Sabin" 

Illustrated  by  OSCAR  WILSON.          12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 

The  efforts  of  Mr.  Sabin,  one  of  Mr.  Oppenheim's  most  fascinating 
characters,  to  free  his  wife  from  an  entanglement  with  the  Order  of 
the  Yellow  Crayon,  give  the  author  one  of  his  most  complicated  and 
absorbing  plots.  A  number  of  the  characters  of  "  Mysterious  Mr. 
Sabin  "  figure  in  this  delightful  work. 

THE  TRAITORS 

Illustrated  by  OSCAR  WILSON  and  F.  H.  TOWNSEND 
12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


A  brilliant  and  engrossing  story  of  love  and  adventure  and  Russian 
political  intrigue.  A  revolution,  the  recall  of  an  exiled  king,  the 
defence  of  his  dominion  against  Turkish  aggression,  furnish  a  series 
of  exciting  pictures  and  dramatic  situations. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers,  BOSTON 


E.  Phillips  Oppenheim's  Novels 
THE  BETRAYAL 

Illustrated  by  JOHN  CAMERON.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


In  none  of  Mr.  Oppenheim's  fascinating  and  absorbing  books  has 
he  better  illustrated  his  remarkable  faculty  for  holding  the  reader's 
interest  to  the  end  than  in  "The  Betrayal."  The  efforts  of  the 
French  Secret  Service  to  obtain  important  papers  relating  to  the 
Coast  Defence  of  England  are  the  motif  of  its  remarkable  plot. 

A  MILLIONAIRE   OF 
YESTERDAY 

Illustrated  by  J.  W.  G.  KENNEDY.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


Mr.  Oppenheim  has  never  written  a  better  story  than  "  A  Million- 
aire of  Yesterday. "  He  grips  the  reader's  attention  at  the  start  by 
his  vivid  picture  of  the  two  men  in  the  West  African  bush  making  a 
grim  fight  for  life  and  fortune,  and  he  holds  it  to  the  finish.  The 
volume  is  thrilling  throughout,  while  the  style  is  excellent. 

THE  MAN 
AND  HIS  KINGDOM 

Illustrated  by  CH.  GKHNWALD.     12mo.     Cloth*     $1.50 

This  brilliant,  nervous,  and  intensely  dramatic  tale  of  love,  intrigue, 
and  revolution  in  a  South  American  State  is  so  human  and  life-like 
that  the  reader  is  bewildered  by  the  writer's  evident  daring,  and  his 
equal  fidelity  to  things  as  they  are. 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers,  BOSTON 


E.  Phillips  Oppenheim's  Novels 
THE  LOST  LEADER 

Illustrated  by  FRED  PEGEAM.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


As  fascinating  a  story  of  modern  life  as  a  novelist  has  yet  conceived 
and  one  that  arrests  the  mind  by  its  fine  strenuousness  of  purpose. 

THE  MALEFACTOR 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


This  amazing  story  of  the  strange  revenge  of  Sir  WingraveSeton, 
who  suffered  imprisonment  for  a  crime  he  did  not  commit  rather  than 
defend  himself  at  a  woman's  expense,  "  will  make  the  most  languid 
alive  with  expectant  interest,"  says  the  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

A  MAKER  OF  HISTORY 

Illustrated  by  FRED  PEGRAM.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


A  story  of  absorbing  interest  turning  on  a  complicated  plot  worked 
out  with  dexterous  craftsmanship.  A  capital  yarn  of  European  secret 
service. — Literary  Digest. 

THE  MASTER  MUMMER 

Illustrated  by  F.  H.  TOWNSEND.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.50 


Will  be  found  of  absorbing  interest  to  those  who  love  a  story  of 
action  and  romance.  —  Academy,  London. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  COMPANY,  Publishers,  BOSTON 


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